Old Dog, New Tricks
by Boogum
Summary: Everyone knows you can't teach an old Saiyan new tricks ... or can you? Bulma is determined to find out, but the prince of Saiyans is not an easy man to befriend. Can she ever get him to learn to accept his new life on Earth?
1. A New Beginning

So I finally managed to get my hands on the complete series of _Dragon Ball Z_ and have been watching them like crazy during my breaks (and very enjoyable it has been—I completely forgot how hilarious the series is). Anyway, after watching season three, I finally feel like I have enough grasp on the characters and general plot to attempt a chaptered Bulma/Vegeta fanfic. I should warn you, though, that I do like to take a bit of creative licence every now and then, but hopefully you'll enjoy the fic enough to forgive me. ^_~

Right. Now that I've got the rambling intro out of the way, on to the story!

* * *

><p><strong>A New Beginning<strong>

What the hell had just happened?

One moment he had been about to blast Frieza with an energy ball, and the next he was in this disgustingly green and _flowery_ looking clearing, with no Frieza, no Kakarot, and no hope of achieving the revenge he had so long desired. It was intolerable! What was the point of being brought back to life if he was only to be denied from joining the fight that was and always had been _his_ to end? Kakarot might be a Super Saiyan, but it was he, Vegeta, who was the prince of all Saiyans and who had been forced to suffer the humiliation of serving under Frieza's rule. The pleasure of defeating the sadistic bastard should have been his.

Vegeta kicked at one of the flowers near his boot, shredding the white petals to make them fall like snow back to the far too lush grass—grass he knew most definitely did not belong to that dying planet Namek. The sound of people talking and celebrating drifted towards him from beyond the trees, and a low growl vibrated in his throat as he recognised one in particular. He'd know that damn kid's moronic laughter anywhere after having been subjected to it for so long.

"So the little brat is here as well, is he?" Vegeta mused aloud, frowning in the direction of the noise.

The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. If Kakarot's son was here, then that meant they were all back on Earth—the planet Kakarot had foolishly decided to call home, and where the little brat was from. Vegeta curled his lip at his surroundings. He thought he had smelt something foul in the air: it was the scent of weaklings, of inferior life forms that he knew he could wipe out in a heartbeat if he so wished, yet here he was stuck with them. Just brilliant.

Scowling, Vegeta stalked through the trees towards the others, determined to discover what exactly was going on. The sight that met his eyes made his lip curl even more. It seemed the whole race of those green-skinned freaks had been revived and were gathered together, and there was the brat and that blue-haired banshee he had seen once or twice on Namek with them as well. All were cheering and gushing over Kakarot like he was the god of the universe for offering to stay behind and defeat Frieza at the risk of his own life.

_Always so noble, _Vegeta thought with disdain. _What an idiot. _

He folded his arms as he watched the ill-assorted group, unable to help the contemptuous expression that crept onto his face. They were all so damn cheerful, all so delighted to be united with each other again, like one big happy family. He had a right mind to go out there and blast them all, but even as he made to step forward, he found himself hesitating. There was no need to destroy these people, no orders that he specifically had to follow, but then what was he supposed to do? Making small talk had never been his forte. All he ever did was train and kill, but there seemed little need for that here.

Feeling suddenly at a loss, Vegeta remained where he was under the shelter of the trees, content to play the silent observer while he tried to assimilate this new turn of events. Nobody seemed to notice his presence, still too busy discussing what was going to happen to Kakarot and whether he would return.

"Of course my dad will come back!" the small half-Saiyan declared, clenching his hands into fists. "He'll beat Frieza and then he'll come home! You just watch!"

"I don't know, Gohan," the blue-haired female sighed, looking up at the sky as if she could still see the battle that was being fought on Namek. "You saw the planet—it was completely breaking apart. I just don't know if he'll have the time to get back to the ship and leave before the whole place explodes."

"He'll make it," Gohan said, more to himself. "I know he will."

"Yeah, you're right," she responded, flashing a smile. "Goku always pulls through somehow."

Feeling like he might be sick if he had to listen to any more, Vegeta left the cover of the forest and stopped in front of them, arms still folded across his chest. "What are you fools sounding so damned pleased about?" he demanded, turning all eyes towards him. "Your precious Kakarot isn't going to come back. If Frieza doesn't finish him, that planet he so idiotically chose to stay on will."

"V-V-Vegeta!" the female stammered, eyes widening in alarm as she took a frightened step backwards.

A smirk tugged at Vegeta's mouth—apparently he hadn't lost his touch to make people cower before him—but the sight of his smugness seemed to have quite the effect on the female: her eyes flashed in lightning blue, and suddenly she was glaring at him, hands balled into fists at her sides.

"_Ooh_, why did the eternal dragon have to bring back a big jerk like you!" she shrieked, and probably would have blasted him with her ki too, if she actually had the ability.

Vegeta allowed himself a small smile. "Someone's touchy."

"Why you—"

"Bulma, no!" Gohan cried, grabbing at her arms and holding her back. "Don't give him that satisfaction. Can't you see he just wants to get a rise out of you?"

She visibly deflated, but her eyes continued to glower at the cocky Saiyan. Vegeta was surprised at her fire, even a little impressed, but he had better things to do than waste his time with one insignificant female. He turned his attention to the Halfling, his smirk now firmly manifested.

"It's time you face the truth, boy. Your father isn't coming back, and with Frieza out of the picture that leaves me as the most powerful warrior in the universe." He laughed darkly, meeting their hateful gazes with malicious delight. "You should be grateful I'm in a good mood; I could easily kill you all right now, but I think I'll be merciful and keep you as my subjects. How does that sound?"

"Who do you think you are?" Bulma demanded, placing her hands on her hips. "You'd still be dead right now without us!"

Vegeta shrugged. "Mere technicalities. I'm not one to waste a good opportunity, and with Kakarot gone—"

"Shut up!" Gohan growled between gritted teeth. "Just shut your stupid mouth!"

Vegeta let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, I think the little Halfling is getting all fired up. What's the matter, boy? Can't handle the truth? Don't worry, I don't plan on hurting you. You and I are the last of the Saiyan race, and that makes you special. Besides," he added with a smirk, "I'm going to need someone to clean my boots."

Gohan let out a snarl of rage, but he didn't attack. Instead, he held his chin high, meeting the older Saiyan's eyes squarely.

"All your talk means nothing, Vegeta. My dad will come back, and when he does you'll be sorry!"

Vegeta only laughed even more. "You keep telling yourself that, kid. In the mean time, I suggest you start practising your scrubbing skills."

He didn't wait to see how the boy would respond and headed away from the group, still chuckling to himself as he flopped against the grass and stared up at the perfectly blue sky—a common feature on the planet, apparently. This was all too much. Sure, he was annoyed he hadn't been able to defeat Frieza himself, but now that he thought about it, this way was almost better. It had suddenly occurred to him that the whole universe was his for the taking, and he hadn't even had to lift a finger for it. Frieza would never be able to rule him now—no one would. And with Kakarot gone, he would finally be the strongest warrior in the universe, just as he had always dreamed.

A twisted smile curled his mouth, and he grabbed a fistful of grass and threw it up into the air, watching the blades fan out in an explosion of green. For so long he had hoped for this moment, keeping the thought close to his heart throughout every bitter day he had spent under Frieza's reign, and now his time had finally come. No more would he have to bow down to another, forced to swallow his pride and stomach every petty name thrown his way. At last he was free. At last he would have the respect he deserved.

"Seems you did come in handy after all, Kakarot," Vegeta mused, and then let out another bark of laughter—a sound that seemed to go on and on, bubbling out of his chest like the erratic explosions of lava that even now were destroying his enemies, too wild to control.

Not far from the prince, Bulma, Gohan and Piccolo exchanged surprised glances.

"He's cracked," Piccolo observed, frowning at the Saiyan, who was now laughing so hard he would have put King Kai to shame.

"I wish he would shut up," Gohan muttered, wiping a stray tear from his eye. "I'm sick of listening to him."

"I . . . I think he's in shock."

Both turned to look at Bulma, who was holding a hand to her mouth and looking just as surprised as they were by her revelation.

"What are you talking about?" Gohan asked, glancing up at her.

Bulma pursed her lips, struggling to put her thoughts to words. "I don't know, Gohan. I've been watching him since he first showed up, and, yeah, he's been acting like a jerk, but something about his behaviour just doesn't match up." She stared back at the Saiyan, and a slight crease formed on her brow as she tried to puzzle him out. "On the surface he seems happy, triumphant even, but underneath all that tough man bravado . . . underneath I think he's confused, maybe even a little sad."

"Sad? He's _laughing_, Bulma. And let's not forget this is Vegeta we're talking about. All he cares about is becoming immortal and ruling the universe—he proved that to us quickly enough."

Since the man in question chose this moment to state how he was going to use the dragon balls to wish for eternal life so he could rule the universe for eternity, Bulma had to admit that Gohan had a point.

"I guess you're right," she relented, though she continued to watch the Saiyan long afterwards, drawn to him for reasons quite inexplicable to herself.

After his initial outburst, the prince seemed to retreat back into his role as the silent observer, and would have easily been forgotten had she not been watching his every move. He was sitting near the trees now, positioned far enough from the group to discourage anyone from approaching, but not so far that he could not hear what they were saying. Occasionally he would glance in their direction, but he made no effort to join their conversation—not that anyone was particularly eager to include him anyway. With Guru dying and the fate of Goku still uncertain, the last thing people wanted was for Vegeta to ruin everything with his cruel remarks and threats to take over the planet. Yet even then Bulma could not shake the feeling that this intimidating man was not the cold-hearted megalomaniac he liked to make himself out to be.

_I just know there's more to him than he's letting on_, she thought, taking in his strong features and the shock of black hair that dominated his appearance, all framed by the sharp V of his widow's peak.

She had to admit, he was the kind of man who commanded attention, whether one found him attractive or not. Maybe it was the prince in him. He certainly carried himself with a regal air, despite his gruffness and smaller stature, and though she did think he was the biggest jerk she had ever met, even she was not immune to his enigmatic charm. There was something mysterious about him, something she wanted to solve. She was a genius, after all, and every genius loves a good puzzle. Besides, whatever one could accuse the Prince Vegeta of being, boring was not one of them.

The dark eyes turned to her, holding her gaze for a brief, intense moment before he looked the other way. She frowned, not liking the fact he was able to dismiss her so easily, but she was too curious to really get offended. He was fascinating to observe—fascinating and terrifying in one, like a wild cat she knew would turn on her the moment she turned her back and yet she could not help but admire anyway.

Still, for all Vegeta's boasts, Bulma had a feeling he wasn't really that much of a threat. He had dropped the matter of immortality as soon as Piccolo had mentioned the dragon balls wouldn't be active for another year, and though he'd made several nasty comments, and had even appeared to take pride in the fact a whole community of Namekians could not be revived because he and not Frieza had been the one to murder them, there didn't seem to be any real malice behind his words. From what she could see, most of it was a lot of bark without any real bite, like a dog raising its hackles at the sight of a stranger because it knows no other way to behave.

"I wonder . . ." Bulma murmured, watching the dark-haired man closely.

His eyes were shut as he leant against the tree, and she couldn't help but note that he looked utterly relaxed as he sat surrounded by people who both hated and feared him. She wondered if it was just an act, or if he really was as calm as he appeared. Before she could ponder these questions further, however, her attention was diverted as someone called her name.

Bulma froze. She knew that voice, but it couldn't be—

"Yamcha?" she queried, looking about the clearing as if her dead boyfriend might suddenly spring out from one of the trees. The voice sounded muffled, as if it was coming from far away, but he couldn't be too far if he could see her.

Gohan and the Namekians turned to look at her curiously, and though she was no longer watching him, so did Vegeta.

She took a step towards the forest. "Yamcha, is that you?"

"_Yeah, it's me. How's it going, babe?" _

Bulma still could see no sign of the handsome, and presumably dead, warrior. Judging by the puzzled looks she was receiving, it seemed that she was the only one who had even heard the voice, which could only mean one thing. She had finally gone crazy.

"This is not happening," she muttered, beginning to hyperventilate.

"Er, Bulma?" Gohan said, touching her arm and looking up at her in some concern.

Bulma ignored him. The voice that sounded like Yamcha was still talking to her. She wished it would shut up. She didn't want to be crazy. She was too pretty to be crazy!

"_Hey! Come on, Bulma. I'm trying to tell you something important!"_

Bulma clamped her hands over her ears. "Just breathe," she told herself. "Breathe." She forced herself to take a deep breath. "Alright, Bulma, it's okay. You're not hearing voices. There is a perfectly rational reason for why you can hear Yamcha and no one else can. It doesn't mean you're crazy. A genius like you could never be crazy."

"_You're not crazy, Bulma!"_ Yamcha said firmly, cutting short her ravings. _"I'm speaking to you telepathically through King Kai. Now would you please calm down so I can tell you what's going on? There's only so long we can keep up the connection." _

Bulma let out a sigh of relief. She knew there had to be a rational explanation for her sudden predilection for hearing the voice of her dead boyfriend.

"Go ahead, Yamcha," she said aloud. "I'm listening."

Apparently, everyone else was as well. They were all staring at her—most of the Namekians looking quite perplexed by her behaviour—but Gohan, Vegeta and Piccolo had finally caught on, having witnessed Goku do the same thing.

"_Alright, here's the deal. Frieza has been defeated and—"_

"Frieza is dead?" Bulma exclaimed. "You mean Goku actually did it?"

"_Yes, but—"_

"That's brilliant!" She turned to face the others. "Hey, guys, guess what? Frieza is dead! Goku did it! He won!"

"Yeah! Go Dad!" Gohan cheered, jumping up and down with the rest of the Namekians.

"I knew he could do it," Piccolo said with a satisfied smile.

"_Don't start celebrating just yet. There's more."_

Bulma tensed, not liking his serious tone. "What is it?"

"_Goku, he . . . he's dead. He didn't make it off the planet in time."_

Her heart sunk. They had all feared this would be the case—a dread that had been all the more poignant before they had known about the Namekian dragon balls' ability to bring people back to life more than once. Now, however, her sadness took shape in the form of knowing that, though Goku could be revived, it still didn't change the fact he had to go through the pain of dying.

"Oh, bummer," she sighed, turning to face the others. "Goku didn't make it off the planet. He's dead."

"_BULMA!"_

"What?" she demanded, wincing at the sound of Yamcha's telepathically magnified voice.

"_How could you break the news so callously? That's his son down there! Even I could have done a better job!"_

"Relax, Yamcha," she responded with her best 'I'm such a genius' laugh. "The Namekian dragon balls followed the Nameks to earth and _their_ dragon allows people to be brought back to life more than once. We'll have Goku back in no time!"

"_I'm afraid not. Even if you could bring him back to life with the Namekian dragon balls, there'd be no planet for him to be revived on. He'd just die again from the lack of oxygen. The same goes for Krillin."_

Bulma's bottom lip trembled. "You mean—?"

"Yeah," he said heavily. "There's no bringing them back."

She slumped to her knees, unable to believe what she was hearing. Goku and Krillin . . . gone for good?

"What's wrong, Bulma?" Gohan asked, kneeling beside her.

Bulma had no choice but to explain the situation, even though it killed her to see the happy glow in Gohan's eyes fade to despair. Poor kid, he'd only just got his dad back. And Krillin . . .

A cold laugh had them all swivelling their heads in the direction of the previously silent prince. She'd almost forgot he was there.

"I told you this would happen," Vegeta said with indecent relish. "That idiot Kakarot sealed his fate the moment he decided to stay behind on that death trap. Now he's gone and there's no bringing him back."

He laughed again, loudly and cruelly, as if the thought of Goku being truly dead was the funniest thing he had heard all day. Bulma narrowed her eyes, but it was Gohan who told the prince to shut up.

"Why should I?" Vegeta taunted. "It's not as if you're worth listening to anyway, and without Kakarot, you really are nothing."

"That's it!" Gohan yelled, taking up a fighting stance. "I'm sick of hearing your voice!"

A smirk twisted the older man's features. "What are you going to do about it, boy? Fight me?"

The answering growl was all Vegeta got before Gohan lunged at him, fists flying. Vegeta laughed as he dodged the child's punches and kicks, clearly enjoying himself.

"Come on, kid," he goaded. "You can do better than that."

Gohan let out another howl of rage and finally managed to land a punch. Vegeta's head snapped back from the blow, a faint look of surprise crossing his features, and then Gohan was pummelling into the older man, raw anger burning in his eyes. There seemed to be no stopping the young Saiyan's fury, but then Vegeta moved so fast it was as if he had turned into a blur of colour and Bulma watched in horror as Gohan was sent flying, unable to block the powerful blow to his jaw.

"We have to stop this," Bulma cried, taking a step forward as Gohan was struck again and again, each blow dealing more damage than the last.

Piccolo grabbed her by the wrist, holding her back. "Don't."

"But—"

The Namek shook his head. "Just wait."

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and glanced back at the two Saiyans, hating how helpless she felt. A part of her was certain that Vegeta wouldn't kill Gohan, but another part—the part that remembered the terrifying prince who had threatened to hurt her on Namek and who had nearly killed Goku, Krillin and Gohan the first time he had come to Earth—was not quite so confident. She might believe there was more to him than meet the eye, but that didn't change the fact that he was a ruthless warrior who very rarely showed mercy.

"Come on, Gohan," she murmured. "Hang in there."

Vegeta brought both fists down on Gohan's head, driving the boy to the ground with such force that the ground splintered from the impact, baring its earthy insides like a jagged row of teeth. Bulma let out a small shriek of dismay, watching as if in trance as Vegeta landed beside the fallen child and held out one glowing palm.

_He's going to kill him_, she thought, gut wrenching in fear.

There had to be something she could do to stop this, but her mind was still trying to come to terms with what was she was seeing. It had all happened so quickly, but there was no denying the murderous intent of the energy building at Vegeta's command.

"Enough!"

She turned in surprise, watching as Piccolo stepped forward and placed himself between Gohan and Vegeta.

"The boy is defeated," Piccolo said in his flat, serious voice. "Be satisfied with that."

Vegeta immediately let the energy die in his hand, though a faint smirk lingered at his mouth. "Have it your way. It's not as if I care."

Before anyone could respond, he shot into the air in a blast of blue light, shockwaves of energy crackling around him as he sped off into the distance. Bulma watched the blurry shape of his form fade from view and then let out a small sigh. To her left, Dende was already crouched in front of Gohan and healing the wounds Vegeta had made.

"You alright?" she asked, helping Gohan to his feet once the healer was finished.

He nodded. "Yes, thanks to Dende."

"It's the least I could do," the young Namek responded shyly.

Bulma looked back towards the direction where she had last seen Vegeta. "I don't understand. Why did he just let you go like that? I thought he was going to kill you for sure."

"So did I," Gohan admitted.

"Hrm. Well, I hope he doesn't go off causing havoc somewhere else," Bulma said with a frown.

The last thing they needed was for Vegeta to start killing random people because he was in a foul mood.

Gohan fell silent, staring down at his hands in deep concentration. "Hey, Bulma," he said after a moment.

"Mm?"

"Do you really think there's no way to bring my dad and Krillin back?"

"I don't know, kiddo." She sighed, brushing back the strands of hair that tickled her cheek. "Namek has gone—that we know for certain—but that doesn't mean we can't have hope."

"I guess."

She nudged him in the ribs. "Hey, cheer up. I'm a genius, remember? I'll figure something out."

He smiled, managing to take some comfort in her words, but for Bulma it felt like the final nail in the coffin. Without Namek, she knew there was no way to bring Goku and Krillin back, no matter how much she wished otherwise. This day was just getting worse and worse. And what in Kami's name were they supposed to do with Vegeta?

_I wonder if he'll return_, she thought, shielding her eyes as she stared out into the distance.

She wisely chose not to question why she cared.

**oOo**

Vegeta had only gone a short distance before he realised he had no idea where he was going or even what he was doing—all he had wanted was to get as far away from those idiots as possible. Now, as he hesitated in mid-flight, he realised the truth: there was nowhere for him to go. This was not his planet, he knew of no spaceship that he could steal so he could leave, and even if he did manage to find a vessel, where would he go? His claims to become ruler of the universe were just that: empty claims. He didn't really know what he was doing. He was like a prisoner who had been released after a lifetime of imprisonment, already missing his cell even as he experienced his first taste of freedom.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Vegeta stopped short in the air and floated down to one of the mountain tops, settling himself on a ridge overlooking the countryside. His lip threatened to curl again. Earth was so green. So damn peaceful. It made him on edge. Fighting Kakarot's brat had eased some of the tension building inside him, but even that had ended on a disquieting note.

As a Saiyan, he naturally relished in the adrenaline rush of combat, but when it had come to delivering the final blow, he'd found himself hesitating _again_. Thoughts that had never crossed his mind had invaded his automatic determination to kill.

_This boy saved my life on Namek_, he had found himself thinking. _I fought alongside him, protected him, spared him. Do I really want to kill him now?_

In that moment he had found himself remembering another time when he'd seen the boy cringing on the ground—that moment when he had watched Frieza crush Gohan's skull with unhurried sadism and was forced to recognise his own revulsion at what he was witnessing. It had pained him to watch the boy writhe in agony—pained and disgusted, though he had not known why at the time since he had seen, and even performed, far worse. The shock of the memory, however, had opened a new window of clarity to him, and as he had stood there with his hand outstretched towards the young half-Saiyan, his palm burning with deadly energy, he had realised he was about to see that pain again, except this time it would be his boot crushing the life out of the small body.

Vegeta sighed and settled into a more comfortable position, resting back on his palms as he looked up at the sky. He hadn't been able to admit it before, but he was relieved that Piccolo had stopped him from killing the child. Part of him had been aware that he hadn't really wanted to take that final step, but old habits were hard to break, and the more dominant side of his psyche had dictated he just release the ball of energy and kill the brat, to hell with the consequences. The Namek's timely interruption had given him the excuse he needed to show mercy, but that didn't answer why he had even wanted to spare the child.

"I must be going soft," he grumbled.

It was all Kakarot's fault. Kakarot who was now gone for good, taking the secrets of how to become a Super Saiyan with him.

Vegeta clenched his hands into fists. That was the one thing he regretted. All his life he had dreamt of becoming a Super Saiyan, feeling it was his right as the prince of his race, and knowing it was what Frieza had feared above all else; however, Vegeta had never been able to achieve the legendary transformation. In what appeared a cruel twist of fate, it was Kakarot, a third class Saiyan who had not even known of his real heritage until less than two years ago, who had achieved the power the prince could not. Now, when all seemed so meaningless and empty, the desire to attain that power was the only thing that made sense to Vegeta—a new purpose. But Kakarot was dead, swallowed up in the destruction of Namek, and there was no way to bring him or the knowledge he carried back.

"Or was there?"

Vegeta frowned, ruminating on all that he had heard between the blue-haired female and her telepathic friend. From what he could see, the only thing stopping them from bringing Kakarot and the bald one back from the dead was the fact that Namek was no longer there to act as a check-in point for their revived bodies. But what if one wished for them to be placed somewhere else before asking the dragon to grant them life?

"That's it!" he exclaimed, slamming his fist into his hand.

All they needed was a new check-in point.

Pumped at having a new plan of action, Vegeta shot into the air without a second thought and headed back to the others at maximum speed. Just as he had expected, they were still clustered in the clearing where he had left them and were discussing what they could do about Kakarot and Krillin. Unlike him, however, they were not having as much luck in coming up with a way to solve their fallen comrades' predicament.

Vegeta touched down on the outskirts of the group and resumed his place against the tree that he had taken a liking to earlier, content to just observe and listen before he told them of his plan. He didn't want them to think he actually cared about what happened to their friends, because he didn't. All he wanted was the information Kakarot could give. After that, all of them were fair game.

The female—Bulma he thought her name was—caught his eye and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. He merely stared at her, blank and refusing to return the gesture. She seemed to expect no less and went back to trying to reassure the others, telling them there had to be a way to get around Kakarot and Krillin being revived only to die in space.

"I just know there is," she said more softly, lowering her gaze.

Vegeta decided it was time to step in.

"Why don't you just wish for them to be sent somewhere else first before you ask the dragon to bring them back to life?" he suggested without emotion. "Earth has a check-in point that connects with the spirit world. All you would have to do is wish Kakarot there and then you can ask for him to be brought back to life."

"And then it doesn't matter if Namek is destroyed!" Bulma exclaimed, catching on. "Vegeta, you're a genius!"

She smiled brilliantly at him, and for a moment he was at a loss how to respond. Most people glared or cowered in fear when in his presence. They did not smile—especially women—and they certainly didn't give him compliments.

Irritated that he had allowed himself to get flustered by this pathetic excuse for a human, he folded his arms and glared hard at the ground. Let them sort out the rest; he had done his part. To his surprise, a small pair of white boots suddenly invaded the edges of his vision.

"What do you want, brat?" he demanded, raising his eyes to confront the boy standing shyly before him.

"Thank you for helping my dad and Krillin. It really means a lot."

Vegeta shifted edgily, annoyed that even after he had made it clear he was indifferent to the whole situation, they were still treating him like a hero. As if he cared.

Gohan, quite oblivious to the older man's discomfort, held out a hand in a show of camaraderie. Vegeta's lip curled, and he swatted the boy's hand away in open distaste.

"Don't get carried away," he snapped, refolding his arms as he looked the other way.

Gohan took the hint and left him in peace, but his thoughts were soon interrupted again—this time by the blue-haired banshee, who was busy opening her doors to every homeless Namek on the planet.

"Hey, homeboy!" she called, facing him with another of her brilliant smiles. "What about you? You're going to need a place to stay as well."

"Homeboy?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

Her eyes brimmed with amusement, looking bluer than ever. "Gosh, Vegeta, you really do need to loosen up. Why don't you just drop the arrogant tough guy act for a moment and try to relax!" She laughed in a very feminine, and undeniably flirtatious, way. "You're actually kind of cute!"

"What?" he snarled, feeling his cheeks warm. "I'm not kind of—" He struggled for a moment to even say the word she so disgustingly decided to label him. "Shut up!" he settled for instead, glowering in the other direction.

She let out another tinkling laugh, and he had to clench his hands into fists to stop from blasting her then and there. Stupid woman. He was the prince of all Saiyans: a warrior feared by all who came across his path. He was not, absolutely not, some pathetic Earthling she could fuss over and tease.

_Cute_, he thought in disgust. _Who does she think I am?_

The woman in question suddenly appeared before him, hands on her hips.

"My dad's coming to pick us up on his airship. Be ready to leave when he gets here."

"Who said I was coming with you?"

A disconcerting smile curved her lips. "Who said you had a choice?"

His eyes narrowed. "I don't take orders from anyone, woman."

"Good luck surviving on your own, then," she said airily, turning on her heel and walking away.

A low growl vibrated in his throat as he realised he had been backed into a corner. They both knew he would find it very difficult to live on Earth without her family's help.

"Fine," he snarled, frustrated that he had been reduced to relying on a stupid woman's hospitality. "I'll stay."

"Excellent!" she exclaimed, turning back to face him. "I'm sure you'll like it at Capsule Corp. There's plenty of space, and you'll have your own room and everything." Her eyes danced with friendly humour. "You can think of this as your new beginning on Earth."

He stared at her coolly, thinking that he could come up with a few less complimentary names for the situation he now found himself in.

"Oh, look," Bulma said, pointing up at the sky where a very large airship could be seen. "There's my dad now."

Vegeta frowned as he watched her head back towards the group to help shepherd the Namekians onto the airship. Before the doors had barely opened, a woman with jet-black hair came rushing out, loudly demanding for her boy before seizing upon Gohan and pulling him into a tight hug. Vegeta's lip curled in distaste. So that was Kakarot's wife.

Not wanting to get caught up in the happy reunions, Vegeta lingered near the outskirts of the forest, content to just wait until they had all got aboard before approaching himself. He knew in that moment that he was not going to enjoy his time on Earth. He also wondered why he was even putting up with these fools.

_Because you want to become_ _a Super Saiyan_, his mind answered for him.

Yes, that was it. And the only way to achieve that was to stay with these people long enough for Kakarot to be wished back to life.

He stared back at the collection of Namekians and Earthlings, and his lip curled even more.

_A new beginning,_ he thought with a snort of contempt. _We'll see._

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

So, as you may have guessed, this story starts just when Frieza has been defeated and all of them have been transported to Earth via the dragon balls. This chapter sticks pretty close to canon, and you may have also noticed some of the actual dialogue has been thrown in there—albeit in my own paraphrased way.

I doubt I'll write another chapter so closely linked to the actual anime, but I will make a note of it if I do, just to avoid the whole plagiarism thing.

Anyway, let me know what you think. Your feedback will be greatly appreciated. ^_^


	2. Settling In

**Settling In**

Vegeta made a point of taking up residence in one of the far corners of the airship, well away from the Namekians and the few humans who were also travelling with him. Most of them were still shooting him nervous glances, as if he was about to start firing ki blasts at them any moment. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If he was going to kill them, didn't they think he would have done it already? Playing friendly tea party before attacking was not his style; he was vicious, cruel and merciless, but he was not sadistic. Not like Frieza, anyway.

He exhaled loudly, and was about to close his eyes in an attempt to at least pretend he was not surrounded by idiots, when he noticed one of the Namekian brats staring at him. He bared his teeth slightly, making the green alien turn all the more green before the child looked away, fear radiating from him with each quiver of his small frame. Vegeta would have laughed had he been in a better mood, but, as it was, the sight of the brat's terror did nothing but irritate him further. These people were so pathetic and weak.

"Do you enjoy scaring small children?"

Vegeta tensed. He knew that voice, and he was in no mood to listen to it either. A brusque response already forming on his tongue, he turned his head to confront the woman, only to pause when he saw the playful smile on her face. Then it clicked: she was _teasing_ him.

His jaw tightened. Never had a female dared to treat him with such familiarity, and he wasn't about to let one—especially a pathetic Earthling—start doing so now.

"I enjoy killing them more," he deadpanned, and was delighted when the friendly humour he'd seen dancing in her eyes dulled, then faded out completely as doubt and wariness took its place.

_Good_, he thought. _Let that be a lesson to her not to pester me with her ridiculous talk._

Satisfied that he had nipped that matter in the bud, he relaxed against his seat and was about to close his eyes again when he sensed she was still standing beside him. Repressing a growl, he turned back to face her and immediately noted her sudden shift in appearance. She was no longer pale and unnerved, but had her arms folded tight across her chest—a rather well-endowed chest, he couldn't help but note—and was tapping her foot on the floor, eyes narrowed directly on him.

"I suppose you think that was very funny," she observed, flicking her blue hair out of her face. "Well, I've got news for you, bud. Your humour sucks."

The smallest of smirks curled his mouth. "Who said I was joking?"

Her breasts rose and fell with one sharp heave, and she glared at him a moment before she spun around on her heel and stalked back to the front of the airship, chin held high in the air. Vegeta chuckled softly. Well, the woman might be an idiot, but she was amusing to rile up—especially since she lost her temper so easily. Still, he was in no mood to deal with her or anyone else, and was quite pleased to see the back of her.

_Damn Earthlings never shut up,_ he thought, closing his eyes and sinking back into the chair.

The sooner they got to this Capsule Corporation place, the better.

**oOo**

The 'Capsule Corporation place' turned out to be a lot bigger than Vegeta had at first assumed. The Saiyan prince had seen many fantastic sights during his travels, but the large domes that seemed to sprout out of the ground like so many metal mountains were certainly a sight to behold. He could not believe that loud-mouthed creature lived here, though he supposed it explained the bratty undertones he had perceived in her behaviour. It had been obvious to him even on Namek that she was used to getting her way. Now it made sense: the woman lived like a queen.

"Well, guys, this is going to be your new home for a while!" Bulma declared, bestowing all her 'house guests', even Vegeta, with one of her warm, inclusive smiles. It seemed she had got over their previous dispute.

Vegeta folded his arms, trying not to look as impressed as he felt. The open awe on the Namekians' faces was sick-making enough, and he had no ambition to join the ranks of those fools. He was a prince and an elite warrior; he had a reputation to uphold.

They all started to move towards the domes, headed by Bulma and the man in the white lab coat who had flown them over on the airship; Vegeta assumed the man must be her father. Before the prince had taken more than two steps, however, a woman with very puffy blonde hair suddenly sidled up beside him and clutched at his arm, wearing a smile so firmly etched onto her face that her eyes appeared shut.

"Oooh, you must be the man who saved my darling Bulma from those nasty men on that planet," the woman gushed, still keeping her death-grip on his arm. "What a hero! And so _handsome_, too!"

Vegeta could feel his cheeks warming again, though whether it was out of frustration or simple embarrassment even he was not certain. All he knew was that the woman unnerved him, and though he was sorely tempted to blast her, if only to shut her up, he had a feeling that course of action wouldn't go down very well with the people around him.

He glanced about wildly, desperate to escape as the blonde airhead at his side continued to babble and cling to him. It was almost with relief that he saw Bulma striding towards them—even if the amused expression on her face did make his eye twitch.

"Mum, leave Vegeta alone," Bulma scolded, though by the way her lips were quivering it was obvious she was trying hard not to laugh. "He's probably tired; I'm sure he doesn't want you hanging all over him and chattering in his ear."

Mrs Briefs gave a comical exclamation of horror. "Oh, I'm sorry, sugar," she gushed, patting his arm in a way that made his eye twitch even faster. "How silly of me. Of course you're tired. And probably hungry too! I'll go whip you up some refreshments!"

Vegeta watched as the woman toddled away, pausing only to state how adorable the little green children were, before she disappeared into one of the large domes. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and turned to see Bulma staring at him with a small smile curving her lips.

"You're really not used to this, are you?"

His brows drew together, forming a dark crease on his forehead. There was no doubt that she was trying to place herself on equal ground with him—maybe even befriend him.

"Leave me alone, woman," he snapped, and stalked ahead, determined to put as much distance as possible between he and any other Earthling female.

As he walked, he spotted a large and round metal structure resting on a grass clearing off the side of the domes. The words 'Capsule Corporation' had been stamped onto the front and judging by its size and general appearance, Vegeta guessed it was a spaceship. A rare smile lifted his mouth, and he made his way over to the shuttle, admiring the exterior with an expert eye.

As a warrior who had spent most of his life travelling around in space, he considered himself quite the connoisseur of spaceships. He could tell just from a glance that this one had been made by a professional. It did not have the simple efficiency of the small shuttles he had used while working for Frieza, but there was something to be said in using a spaceship where one at least had the room to stand up in if one wished—especially when the cold sleep wore off and bladders started protesting.

"Ah, I see you've found her," a voice remarked from just behind him. "She's my latest model. I even managed to install the cappuccino machine this time."

Vegeta turned and saw the same old man from earlier, still in his white coat and with a cigarette drooping from his mouth. A black fuzzy thing was attached to the man's shoulder—a thing that moved and stared at the prince through owlish eyes, before letting out a small meow as it flicked its tail back and forth.

"Don't be so rude, Kitty," Doctor Briefs chided, giving the cat a fond scratch under its chin. "It's only Vegeta."

_Not another one_, Vegeta thought with an inward sigh, wondering why these humans persisted in treating him with such familiarity when only a few months ago he had been destroying their cities and threatening to take over the planet. Or maybe it was just that blue-haired woman and her family. He had heard that insanity was hereditary.

"So what do you think of her?" Doctor Briefs asked, giving the spaceship a fond pat.

"You made this?" Vegeta asked, frowning.

Doctor Briefs chuckled. "Of course I made it. You're looking at the greatest scientist on Earth!"

Vegeta stared at the old man shrewdly, taking in the cat still clinging to his back and the drooping cigarette. "Hmph."

Without waiting for an invitation, the prince walked up the ramp and entered the spaceship, observing everything with his usual attention to detail. It was spacious and luxurious—much more than he had at first assumed just from looking at the exterior. His eyes rested on a control panel that was currently showing the number one, with a little G on the side.

"That's the gravity simulator," Doctor Briefs explained, coming to stand beside him. "You can increase the gravity to whatever level you like with that in order to train under more intensive conditions. I created it originally for Goku's ship for when he was travelling to Namek, but I decided to put one in this shuttle as well since it seemed to work so well."

Vegeta's brows lifted in interest—so that was how Kakarot had got so much stronger—but he said nothing and walked over to examine some of the other functions of the ship. He hated to admit it, but the man really was a genius. This spaceship had everything a warrior could want: a bed, a bathroom, a fridge, space to train—the list went on. And that gravity simulator certainly sounded like it had potential. Who would have thought a planet infested with so many weaklings could actually create such impressive technology?

"So what do you think?" Doctor Briefs asked, thrusting his hands in his pockets and casting Vegeta a knowing grin, nearly losing his unlit cigarette in the process.

"It is—"

"Yoohoo! Vegeta!" a loud female voice called, making the Saiyan wince. "I've got those refreshments ready for you. Come on out, honey, and get yourself something to eat. I've got some _nice, _refreshing drinks here for you as well."

Vegeta curled his hand into a fist, fingers trembling slightly as he visibly tried to restrain his temper. These Earthling women were going to be the death of him, he just knew it. If it wasn't that blonde puffball trying to cosset him with her refreshments and compliments, it was that damned blue-haired banshee screeching at him every second moment only to smile at him the next. He didn't understand it, and he wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ to understand it. All he knew was that, in that moment, he suddenly missed the violent simplicity of his old life. At least when he was purging planets he didn't have to listen to the idiotic inhabitants who had lived there.

_Think of becoming a Super Saiyan_, he told himself firmly. _Just focus on that._ _The rest means nothing._

Yes, that was it. All he had to do was be patient and not lose his temper and blast the fools to hell and back. It shouldn't be too hard. If he could put up with living under Frieza's rule for over twenty years without attacking the genocide-loving lizard, he was sure he could survive a few Earthling women. After all, it wasn't as if they could really do anything to him.

Cheered by this logic, Vegeta followed Doctor Briefs out of the spaceship and was immediately pounced upon by Pansy Briefs, who was still smiling in her squinting way with a tray of drinks clutched in one hand. She thrust a glass of pinkish liquid at him, complete with a pink umbrella bobbing on top, and her smile broadened until it was positively blinding. Vegeta stared, making no move to take the cup.

"Drink up now," she cooed, when he continued to stare at the glass in her hand as if it might explode.

Doctor Briefs gave a small chuckle. "It's alright, my boy. The drink is not poisoned."

The dark eyes narrowed—he was not anyone's _boy_—but instead of making a scene, Vegeta simply snatched the glass from the blonde's hand and took a reluctant sip. He knew damn well the drink was not poisoned—one look at the pathetic Earthlings told him they were much too noble for those kind of tricks—but the drink was pink and had an umbrella, and in Vegeta's books that meant it had might as well be toxic.

"Do you like it?" Pansy asked, tilting her head to the side like a sparrow as she observed him.

"It is . . . adequate," Vegeta answered stiffly.

He had realised as soon as the liquid had collided with his taste buds that, despite its less than pleasing appearance, the drink itself was indeed as refreshing as the woman had claimed. He took a much longer gulp this time and detected a mixture of fruit, with an edgy bite—no doubt a dash of alcohol.

"Oh, I'm so happy you like it!" Pansy exclaimed, sidling up next to him again and clutching at his arm.

Vegeta's eye twitched. For an Earthling woman, she sure moved fast when she wanted to. He'd have to watch this one.

"My, you _are_ strong, aren't you?" the woman continued, unabashedly feeling his bicep. "Such _muscles_. Makes me wonder how much you—" She broke off abruptly and placed a hand to her cheek. "Oh, listen to me go on. And me, a married woman!"

"Hmph," was all Vegeta said, just pleased she had finally released him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could have tolerated that nonsense without taking action.

He glanced towards Doctor Briefs, but the older man didn't seem to care that his mate had been flirting with their new house guest. From the looks of things, the old scientist was much more concerned with a small metal contraption he had pulled out from his pocket. Vegeta frowned. These people behaved so illogically. If it was his mate who had been flirting with another male, the man would be dead right now.

"There you are!"

Vegeta turned to see Bulma heading towards them and had to resist the urge to take flight and make a run for it. He didn't know if he could handle two Earthling women at once. Both of them smiled far too damn much for his likings, and their flippant and—especially in the case of the older woman—admiring way of talking to him was making him feel a little out of his element. Vegeta did not like feeling out of his element.

"What are you all doing hanging around here?" Bulma asked, glancing from the prince to her mother and father, and then back to Vegeta.

"Vegeta was just taking a look at our spaceship," her father answered, pocketing the contraption he had been holding.

Her eyes darted to Vegeta's in one swift motion, and he caught an odd look on her face, as if she were somehow worried or disappointed.

"You're leaving?" she asked, turning the full force of those large, vibrant blue eyes on him.

"Not at the moment," he answered, though he would be lying if he didn't wish he was—this planet made him on edge. "I plan on seeing Kakarot first. We have some unfinished business together."

"Oh, I see." Bulma's eyes lit up with a teasing glow. "Well, I guess that means we're stuck with you a little longer."

"Hmph."

He downed the rest of his drink. Pansy immediately relieved him of the empty cup.

"Well, I just came to say that there's some food laid out on the table over there, thanks to my mum," Bulma continued, gesturing to the table. "The Namekians don't seem to eat, so I guess that means there's more for you." She flashed him another of her dazzling smiles. "Shouldn't be too hard for you to finish off if your appetite is anything like Goku's."

Vegeta folded his arms and looked the other way, but not before he saw her give him what was unmistakably a wink. He inwardly growled, wondering how it was his life had come to this. Here he was, the prince of all Saiyans and one of the most feared warriors in the universe, reduced to drinking pink-coloured concoctions and having Earthling women wink at him like he was their new flavour of the month.

_Idiot_s_!_ he thought, clenching his hands into fists.

"Oh, Vegeta, dear, what's the matter?" Pansy asked, peering up at him in concern. "You're looking a bit flushed."

His eyes snapped towards the blonde, but instead of telling her to shut her damn mouth and get the hell out of his face like he wanted, he exhaled slowly and released the tension in his body.

"Just hungry," he muttered, and headed towards the table that was groaning under the weight of all the food that had been prepared.

Well, the people of Earth might be a nightmare to deal with, but they certainly knew how to make damn good food.

**oOo**

Night was making her way across the sky, blanketing all in a veil of darkness. Bulma sighed and thought not for the first time what a shame it was the moon had been destroyed. She missed seeing its big silvery face, and the stars never shined quite so beautifully now.

"Not that Piccolo cared," she thought venomously.

Those stupid warriors were always destroying things. The whole lot of them were the 'Blast now, ask questions later' type, and none more so than Piccolo. Only an idiot would blow up the moon to stop a handful of Saiyans from transforming into rampaging apes, and since most of those Saiyans were now dead, and the two that were left had both had their tails removed, it seemed even more of a waste.

Speaking of Saiyans, she wondered how Vegeta was settling in to his new environment. After lunch—which he had indeed consumed with all the enthusiasm of Goku, albeit much more gracefully—he'd simply vanished to the room that had been prepared for him and there had been no sight or sound of him since. Bulma had contemplated going to check on him a few times, just to make sure he was still there, but in a rare display of thoughtfulness, she had realised he probably wanted to be alone and so left him be. It wouldn't do to push him too soon.

"At least he stayed," she said aloud, resting her chin on her hand as she stared out the window.

When she had found him with her father and mother outside the spaceship, she had been certain he was just going to take off and leave for space and that would be the end of it. Her disappointment at the thought of him doing so had been as swift as it had been unexpected, as had been her relief upon being told otherwise.

"It's only because I'm bored," Bulma tried to reason with herself.

It wasn't like she actually cared about the guy. He was rude and arrogant and had threatened to kill her more than once. However, he was also the only man around who was close to her age, and he was new and interesting. It would be different if Yamcha were here, but her on and off again boyfriend had gone and got himself killed—fighting Vegeta and his warriors, ironically enough—and Gohan had already left for home with his mother. She could have amused herself with entertaining the Nameks but, and she hated to say it, the peace loving race were frankly boring.

Bulma sighed and flopped back against her bed, arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish. After all the excitement of being on Namek, her home on Earth really did seem so tedious now. Not that she wanted to be back on Namek. The lack of a shower and not being able to wear whatever she liked really had begun to take its toll on her sanity by the end of it, but at least things had been happening there. Though she would never miss being a frog—that was one experience she could definitely have done without.

Sighing again, she rolled onto her side and tucked her hands underneath her chin. Her thoughts drifted back to the enigmatic prince and a small frown tugged at her mouth as she wondered if he really would stay. He had said he wanted to see Goku, which meant he was bound to stick around for the four and a half months it took for the Namekian dragon balls to renew their magic so they could revive him.

"Four and a half months," she mused aloud. "A lot could happen in that time."

A devilish smile curved her lips. Perhaps her time back on Earth wasn't going to be so boring after all.

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

I can't seem to decide what the dominant genre of this story should be, so I'll just say now that it is a combination of Romance/Humour/Drama. Also, I want to thank those of you who reviewed the first chapter. Since I'm only new to the DBZ fandom, it's very reassuring and motivating for me to receive your feedback, so thank you. ^_^

Oh, yeah. I'm still looking for good Bulma/Vegeta stories, so if you have any recommendations, do let me know!


	3. A Matter of Pride

**A Matter of Pride**

_Knock, Knock, Knock._

"Bulma, honey, are you awake?"

Bulma rolled over in her bed, pulling the pillow tight over her ears in an effort to block out the sound of her mother's voice. Maybe if she just pretended she was still asleep, all the noises would go away.

_Knock, Knock, Knock._

"Bul—"

"I heard you, Mum!" Bulma yelled, tossing the pillow away and sitting up to glare at the door. Everyone knew the heiress was not a morning person—especially her far too helpful, far too cheerful mother. Unwanted interruptions such as this were just begging for a death sentence.

The door opened and Pansy Briefs entered, attired in a flowing white dress and heels, with her hair perfectly coiffed. Her daughter was less than pleasant to look upon: Bulma's blue eyes were still half-closed with sleep, and her hair was sticking up in every direction, as if she had been struck by a wayward ki blast. At that moment, it seemed difficult to believe the two were mother and daughter.

"Whad'ya wa—want?" Bulma asked, smothering a jaw-cracking yawn.

"I just came to tell you that everyone has already had breakfast, but there are some leftovers for you on the table. Oh, and I'll be heading into the city to pick up some things for that sweet boy staying with us." Pansy placed a hand against her cheek, shaking her head in ready sympathy. "The poor dear doesn't even have a toothbrush, and I really should get him a shaver and some shaving cream as well. Just think, Bulma, he was trying to shave himself with that odd light he can conjure—key, I think your father called it, or was it kite?" She shrugged, blonde curls bobbing with the motion. "I can't remember, but I told him that he was not to do that anymore and that I would get him a nice, smooth shaver for his use."

"And what did he say to that?" Bulma asked, unable to repress a smile as she imagined her mother trying to tell Vegeta about the right way to remove facial hair.

Pansy giggled. "I really don't remember now. He was getting quite upset, the poor thing, but he did say something about being a warrior, and that he didn't need or want our Earthling rubbish." She smiled brilliantly, eyes squinting shut even more. "But I knew he was just teasing."

"Right." Bulma folded her arms. "Um, Mum, I don't think Vegeta was joking. He's really not the joking around kind of guy."

"Nonsense! Besides, even if he does want to keep using his odd method of shaving, he'll soon change his mind once he tries the new Mach 8 model! I got your father one just like it for his birthday—it's a real treat."

Bulma pursed her lips. "Okay, Mum. Whatever you say." She slid off the bed and gathered her things together as she got ready to have a shower. "So you're going into town to buy Vegeta a shaver and a toothbrush?"

"And some clothes. He tells me the armour he is wearing is more than adequate, but he's only got the one pair of clothing. I mean what is he going to do when he needs to change his underwear?"

Her daughter's eyes widened. "Please don't tell me you actually talked to Vegeta—_Vegeta_, Mr I'm the Prince of all Saiyans—about changing his underwear?"

"Well, of course I did," Pansy said, furrowing her brow. "It's very important to have a change of underwear, and I couldn't just let the sweet boy go around thinking he only had to use the one pair. I assured him we were quite happy to provide for all his needs while he was staying with us, and that included all his clothing essen—"

Bulma's sudden fit of hysterical laughter had her mother breaking off in surprise.

"Now what have I said that is so funny?"

"You—you talked to Ve-Vegeta about—" Bulma tried to say between giggles, but her voiced faded into loud gasps as the sheer ridiculousness of the situation got the better of her.

Pansy placed her hands on her hips. "Now, really, Bulma, I think you could spare the poor boy some sympathy. He came here with nothing but the clothes on his back, and it's up to us to make him feel welcome. The least we can do is give him a spare pair of underwear."

"Did you manage to get his size?" Bulma snickered.

"No," Pansy sighed. "He shut the door on my face when I asked, but that doesn't matter. Your father may be a genius when it comes to machinery, but I'm sure I can figure out what size Vegeta is without his telling me or by using a measuring tape." A far-away smile curved her lips. "That skin-tight suit of his really doesn't leave much to the imagination, you know."

Bulma's amusement quickly faded, and she scrunched her nose up in distaste. "Gee, Mum, thanks for the imagery."

"Oh, Bulma, even you can't deny he's a handsome man—such strong features, and all those muscles!"

"Right." Bulma ran a hand through her messy hair. "Look, Mum, I'm going to have a shower, so you can take your daydreams about a man who is _more than thirty years younger than you_ someplace else. Honestly," she added under her breath, "you're going to give me nightmares."

"You don't want to come with me into town?" Mrs Briefs asked, clasping her hands together. "We could stop at that nice bakery you like."

Bulma laughed. "And help you choose Vegeta's underwear? No thank you."

"Oh, very well. I guess I'll just have to do it myself."

Bulma suddenly saw an image of Vegeta holding up a pair of fluorescent orange underwear with the legend 'I'm Too Sexy' printed on the back. Soon following that was the picture of her mother sprawled head first on the ground, legs twitching from the after-effects of a ki blast, which had been fired from the hand of a certain Saiyan prince.

"On second thought, maybe I will come," Bulma said hastily. "Just let me have my shower and get dressed and then we can go."

"Alright, dear. I'll go tell Vegeta not to worry and that we'll have his things for him by this afternoon. Poor dear," she added, lowering her voice. "He must have lived a very deprived life. He didn't even know what pancakes were until I made him some this morning, but I think he liked them because he certainly ate a lot. It's so nice to see a man with such a healthy appetite."

"What, Goku wasn't enough for you?" Bulma said over her shoulder as she made her way to the on-suite bathroom and turned on the shower.

"Oh, but Vegeta has _much_ better manners."

"That I can agree with," Bulma muttered, stripping out of her sleepwear.

Watching Goku eat was like witnessing a train wreck—except with edibles. At least when Vegeta ate the food made it _all_ to his mouth, even if he did consume enough to feed ten grown men. Goku, however, seemed unable to stop a certain percentage from splattering over his face, as well as any unfortunate soul who happened to be standing too close. It was not a pretty sight.

She suddenly remembered the existence of her other house guests—the ones who seemed to have no appetites—and a frown puckered her brow.

"Hey, Mum," Bulma called as she stepped under the hot water. "Do you think we should get some clothes and things for the Namekians as well?"

"I did ask them if they wanted anything," Pansy responded, voice muffled from the sound of the running shower, "but they said they were fine with what they had. Apparently they have the power to provide for all their needs themselves—clothes and all. Imagine that: being able to conjure clothes out of thin air."

"Well, I suppose that makes it easier on us," Bulma said with a shrug, and then realised her mum couldn't see her or probably even hear her.

"Anyway, dear, I'll let you have your shower," Mrs Briefs continued. "I'm going to go look for Vegeta so I can let him know what's happening, and then I'm going to find your father so he can take care of the sweet boy while we're gone. That poor Vegeta—he's probably feeling so lonely and out of place with no one to keep him company. The dear Nameks have each other, but he's only got himself. It quite breaks my heart."

Bulma barely managed to repress a snort. If only her mum knew how little Vegeta actually cared about human company. Still, she had decided last night that she would at least try to befriend the Saiyan prince—if only to alleviate her own boredom—so she supposed it was probably a good thing her parents wanted to make the alien warrior welcome, along with their other house guests.

"Alright, Mum. I'll meet you down in the kitchen later."

She heard the blonde leave the bedroom, followed by the sound of the door clicking shut. Bulma let out a sigh and allowed her body to relax as she began massaging her shampoo into her hair, surrounding herself with the scent of apple and fresh blossoms. Never did she think she would spend her day helping to find the basic essentials that an alien prince might need for his first stay on Earth. It was completely bizarre, like one of those dreams where she found herself doing every-day things, except, in reality, the things she was doing weren't _every-day_ at all.

"Oh, well. At least it gives me something to do."

There was no way she was going to let her mum go shopping for the prince by herself. Vegeta really would deserve the title 'poor boy' after that, for once Mrs Briefs got going, there was no stopping her.

"No, it's best I go with her," Bulma said decisively.

And if she happened to purchase a few outfits for herself while she was at it, well, no one could fault her for that.

**oOo**

Capsule Corporation was surprisingly quiet without the two females around to open their big mouths and ruin everything. Well, apart from the occasional explosion that sounded from the experimental labs, or the general murmur of conversation arising from the compound where the Namekians were being housed.

Vegeta closed his eyes as he leant against a tree, enjoying the brief respite from feminine trivialities. The sun poured down upon his face, warm and gentle in its caress. He'd noticed earlier that the Earth's sun was very different to what he had experienced on other planets. There was only one for starters, and though its rays were still blinding to look upon, it was neither harsh nor too cold in its intensity and light.

_A sun to breed weaklings_, he thought with a curl of his lip.

These people were so pathetic—even their environment encouraged them to become complacent and weak. He also couldn't understand their obsession with flowers. What was the point of the stupid things? They just filled the air with their nauseating scent and ruined what could have been a perfectly good space to train by taking up all the room. But then that was Earth: illogical and wasteful.

"There you are!"

Vegeta turned to see Doctor Briefs smiling down at him—trademark black kitten still clinging to his shoulder, and his usual cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

"My wife tells me I'm to show you around, but it seems like you've already been making yourself at home. I thought I saw you near my labs earlier."

"Hn."

"Are you interested in mechanics?"

Vegeta folded his arms across his chest. "I was an elite warrior for the Planet Trade Organisation. I had to know about the different uses and functions of technology in order to be a more efficient warrior. We couldn't always rely on other people to come and fix things when something went wrong."

It was more than what he would have told anyone else, but the old man, for all his eccentricities, had already earned a small morsel of Vegeta's respect by creating a vessel which could travel long distances in space—a vessel the prince planned to commandeer one day. He saw no reason not to admit his knowledge of alien machinery to the scientist.

"I see," Doctor Briefs replied, tugging at his moustache. "I wonder if you'd be willing to discuss some of this technology with me. I can imagine with all the travelling you've been doing that you must have come across some rare inventions, and it would certainly help to further my own work. That Saiyan ship of Goku's was the only reason I was able to create a shuttle capable of travelling long distances in space in only a couple of days; we had nothing like that on Earth previously."

Vegeta got to his feet, staring shrewdly at the older man. "Am I expected to do this in exchange for staying here?"

"Of course not, though it would be nice of you."

"Then maybe another time, old man."

Doctor Briefs frowned, realising Vegeta's 'maybe another time' meant probably never.

"That's a shame," he replied. "It would have been good to get an insider's knowledge on the way other world technology works."

A smirk tugged at Vegeta's mouth. "Well, I'm not in a sharing mood."

"Very well." The scientist pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit his cigarette. "Do let me know if you change your mind."

Vegeta watched as the old man wandered off back towards his labs, already losing himself in his usual air of abstraction. As for the prince, he didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. He hadn't expected the man to give up so easily; it was obvious the doctor had wanted that information, but he'd just left as soon as it had been made clear Vegeta was not going to be sharing any secret info any time soon. It was too bad, really. In a way, it would have been enjoyable to see how far the old man would have gone before he started begging. Only then would Vegeta have considered relenting—it wasn't like the information was useful to him anymore, anyway.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he stared towards the residential area where he could hear the Namekians talking and laughing. He was so bored. It was a rare feeling for the prince, who was almost always in motion—whether that consisted of fighting his adversaries, or just travelling in space to fulfil a new mission. It felt strange to be on an alien planet and not have anything pressing to do. He was itching to do something—anything that might present a challenge—but this planet was so damn peaceful. There were no warriors to fight, no people to destroy (or at least no people he was allowed to destroy), and so he was simply left to mooch around like some lost puppy, searching for something to distract his increasingly frustrated thoughts.

_Maybe I should have taken up the old man's offer_, Vegeta thought.

At least then he would have had something to do. The only problem was that willingly helping anyone went against the grain with him. He never did anything for free—not if he could help it, anyway.

"Oh, what am I talking about?" Vegeta snarled, lowering his arms to his sides. "I don't need that stupid old man."

He was not going to brood like some pathetic child just because he didn't know what to do and had nothing to focus his energy on. He was a warrior, a hardened fighter who needed no one but himself. Besides, when all else failed there was always one thing he could do when at a loss, and that was _train_.

A grim smile curled his mouth, and he dropped to the ground where he was, feet and hands planted on the grass as he began his first of what was sure to be thousands of push-ups for the day. Just because he was stuck on this weakling-infested planet didn't mean he had to let himself become as pathetic as them. He would get stronger, and when Kakarot was brought back to life, he would be ready for him.

Vegeta would make sure of it.

**oOo**

Bulma was not around when Mrs Briefs presented Vegeta with the purchases they had bought for him that day—being too busy trying on her seven new outfits in her room, determined to ensure she still looked good in them even when away from the flattering lights of the store's changing rooms—and so she was not there to see his reaction. Mrs Briefs later confided that he had been pleased, but Bulma wasn't certain if she could trust her mother's judgement. This was the same woman who thought Vegeta was the sweetest man around, even when he was glaring bloody murder at her.

"Well, he can just suck it up and be grateful we actually went out of our way to help him," Bulma said firmly, tugging her hairbrush through a particularly stubborn knot. "He can't just keep wearing that smelly armour of his, and Mum is right: he does need to have a change of underwear and socks. That's just gross otherwise."

She placed the hairbrush down on her dresser and confronted her reflection. Her hair was still being a pain and refusing to stay in place, but her new jeans made up for that by making her legs look more gorgeous and longer than ever, and her favourite customised T-shirt—bearing her name in black writing across her chest—was just as it should be. All in all, she thought she looked pretty damn good.

Satisfied with her appearance, Bulma slipped out of the room and made her way outside the residential compound to where a barbeque had been set up for dinner. Mrs Briefs was cooking the meat on the grill, chatting happily away to one of the Nameks, who had come to observe, while Doctor Briefs sat surrounded by several more of the green men. It seemed he was trying to get them to explain to him why they chose to live their lives surviving only on water. Piccolo, he told them, did not live by the same rule and was quite content to eat Earthling food when it suited him, so what made them different?

Bulma shook her head, thinking that sometimes her dad didn't know when to stop with the investigative questions. No doubt her mum had been pressuring the poor guys to eat some of her 'fabulous meat' as well.

Her eyes came to rest on the lone figure positioned a little away from the group, only to narrow as she took in the familiar white combat boots and gloves, the pierced armour, and the skin-tight black suit that completed the ensemble. That idiot was still wearing his Saiyan attire.

She let out a small huff and stomped over to where he was standing, her hands instinctively attaching to her hips. "You're not wearing the clothes we bought you."

It was hardly a proper greeting, but she was in no mood to humour the Saiyan. She had spent _hours_ arguing with her mum over what the prince might like to wear, and now here he was still in that stinky broken armour he'd been wearing when he'd first arrived at their home.

"I have no need for your clothes," he responded coolly, somehow managing to insert a sneer into his voice even when calm.

"Oh, really? Well, I've got news for you, bud—" she said, poking him in the chest "—you're going to wear those damn clothes, because I did not just spend half my day shopping for you only to have that time and effort wasted because you're too damn proud to wear something made on Earth!"

He folded his arms, denying her any opportunity of touching him again—not that she wanted to.

"Your clothes are insufficient for a warrior." His upper lip curled. "I am not going to demean myself by wearing them."

"Ugh! You're impossible!" she cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"And your voice gives me a headache every time you open your loud mouth, but you don't see me complaining."

"Wha—" Her face contorted in fury. "Why you little—"

"Bulma, dear," Mrs Briefs called, waving what looked like tongs at the two of them. "Did you want steak or a sausage?"

Temporarily distracted, Bulma turned to face the smiling blonde. "Um, just whatever Mum. I don't care."

"Alright, honey. And what about you, Vegeta? Oh, wait," Pansy continued before he could respond, "I know a growing man like yourself will want to eat lots, so I'll save you some of both."

She gave one final beam at the two of them and then returned to her cooking. Bulma blinked and then stared back at Vegeta, ready to resume her ranting; however, her mother's interruption had thrown her out of her stride, and now she couldn't even remember what the cocky prince had said to annoy her in the first place.

"Oh, forget it," Bulma sighed, shaking her head. "It's not like you're going to listen to anything I say anyway. Though I hope you're going to at least make use of some of that stuff we bought you. Not all of it is _insufficient_, as you so fondly put it." She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a haughty sweep, meeting his eyes steadily. "You may be a great warrior, Vegeta, but that doesn't mean you have to have bad hygiene."

And with that final barb, she turned on her heel and walked back to where the others were gathered, not even giving him a chance to respond. Let him chew on that for a while; she had much more important things to do than argue with an arrogant jerk like him.

"What's the matter, Bulma?" Dende asked, frowning as she collapsed in the seat beside him. "You look angry."

"It's nothing," Bulma said, shrugging the matter off with a wave of her hand. "Vegeta is just being Vegeta."

"I see." Dende stared down at his lap. "Do you think we can trust him?"

"For now, I guess. He's content to wait for Goku to be revived, so I doubt he'll do anything to jeopardise his position here. Why, you don't like him?"

"Not really. He's mean."

Bulma laughed. "Yes, he is, Dende. He's very mean."

And annoyingly stubborn too.

She couldn't believe he was insisting on remaining in that stupid armour of his. It wasn't like he was suddenly going to have to defend himself. No one was going to attack him here—well, as long as he didn't do anything to inspire people's ire, that is.

_Oh, well,_ she thought. _He'll have to give in eventually. It's not like he can keep wearing that armour forever._

But after three more days of seeing her unsavoury house guest emerge each morning in full combat attire, even she had to admit that she had underestimated the stubborn pride of the Saiyan prince.

"That's it!" Bulma swore to herself as she was forced to hold her breath for what seemed the hundredth time after getting an extra concentrated dose of sweaty, Saiyan male and dirt. "He is going to wear some different clothes, even if I have to rip that damn armour from his body piece by piece!"

She was so tired of his stubbornness, but more than that, she couldn't stand the stench any longer. There was no doubt he showered every morning, but that didn't change the fact that four days of wearing the same clothes was bound to leave a bad odour—especially since he trained in them for hours and hours on end. Not to mention the fact that it was this same armour that he had been wearing when fighting against Frieza on Namek.

"This has to stop," Bulma muttered, glowering as she watched the Saiyan begin his usual training ritual. "I can tolerate his rudeness, but I will not tolerate his smell."

Slapping her magazine closed, she got off the lawn chair and marched over to where Vegeta was doing press-ups. In a better mood, she might have admired his fine physique and the way his muscles bulged and tightened as he lifted his body up and down, but as it was she was far too annoyed to take any notice beyond the fact that this man was a nuisance to her highly delicate sense of smell. Plus, if she had thought the stench was bad when he walked past her during those brief moments, it was positively overwhelming while standing mere inches from him.

"Alright, Vegeta, enough is enough!" Bulma said by way of greeting, planting her hands in their favourite position on her hips. "You're going to get out of that armour and start wearing some new clothes or else I am kicking you out of my house."

He paused, resting on his palms as he looked up at her. "I don't care about your threats, woman, now leave me alone."

"Oh, no you don't!" Bulma hissed when he made to resume his training. "You live at my house, you live by my rules, and I say the armour has to go or else you both go!"

Vegeta sighed, apparently deciding this was one argument he could not dismiss. In one smooth leap, he got to his feet and folded his arms across his chest as he considered her, a none-too-pleased expression on his face.

"It is just clothes, woman. I hardly think it deserves these theatrics."

"Maybe it hasn't occurred to you, Vegeta, but you STINK!" Bulma exclaimed, inching her face closer to him, despite the pungency of sweat and grime that emanated from his body. "You've been wearing the same clothes for days now, and I will not tolerate it any longer! For Kami's sake, it's not like I'm asking you to start performing ballet! No, I'm just asking you to behave like a normal person and change your clothes so that we don't all die from suffocation because there's no clean air to breathe!"

His brow furrowed in confusion, as if he had only just realised there was a possibility his stubborn determination to remain in his armour might have some kind of negative effect. Bulma couldn't help but roll her eyes. Warriors were all the same—even ones like Vegeta, who she had thought at least semi-intelligent.

"It bothers you that much?" he asked, watching her closely.

"Yes!" she shrieked, irritated that he could be so dense.

To her surprise, a smirk suddenly graced his lips.

"Well, then," he continued, "I think I will stay in my armour. You see, I've been observing your family, and I don't think you have the power to kick me out of your house as you say. Only your parents can decide that, and they don't care whether I continue to wear my armour or not, so your threats mean nothing." A much darker glint crept into his eyes. "Besides, I take orders from no one—especially not a woman."

"But you—I—that's just—" Bulma closed her mouth, silencing her spluttering, and instead focussed him with a hard glare. "You're lucky my mum and dad like you, Vegeta, because that's the only thing saving you from being kicked out right now!"

"I highly doubt that, but if it makes you feel better." He shrugged, letting the threat sink in.

Bulma lifted her chin. "You may think you've won this argument, but this war has only just got started. You're messing with Bulma Briefs now, and I _always_ get my way."

He merely stared, clearly deciding he wasn't going to deign her challenge with a response. Not that it mattered; she didn't want to hear his stupid voice anyway. He'd learn she meant business soon enough.

_You won't be looking so smug when you wake up and find your armour gone_, she thought with unholy glee. _You want to play dirty, Vegeta—fine, but two can play at this game._

The jerk would never know what hit him.

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate it! ^_^

Some of you might have noticed I changed Mrs Briefs' name from 'Bunny' to 'Pansy'. I found out the other day that, while no one actually knows her first name, if she was to have one it would have been Pansy, so I decided to stick with that. I really have no idea why I thought it was Bunny in the first place. Most odd.


	4. Dirty Tricks

**Dirty Tricks**

The plan had been simple: sneak into Vegeta's room while he was sleeping and steal the armour so he would have no choice but to change his clothes. Unfortunately for Bulma, actually following through with the plan was not as easy as she had at first presumed.

"Doesn't he ever go to sleep?" Bulma muttered, glaring at the thin strip of light seeping out from the cracks surrounding the door to his bedroom.

It was past midnight, but it seemed like the Saiyan was still not ready to go to bed. She, on the other hand, was completely exhausted. Her eyelids drooped as she sat propped against the wall near his door, and it was only sheer will that kept her awake. Tired or not, Bulma was determined to get that armour from him, if only to prove her point that she was not a woman to be crossed.

_I'll show him, _she thought, gritting her teeth._ He thinks he's so clever by remaining in that stupid armour of his, and—_

The light surrounding the door vanished. For a moment she just stared, unable to believe what she was seeing. It seemed like hours that she had sat crouched in her awkward position in the hallway, feeling her legs grow steadily numb even as her temper flared all the more fiercely. Now, when she was close to giving up, the man she had come to detest had finally turned off his light.

"Oh, thank Kami," she mumbled, stretching out her legs to ease her cramped muscles.

Any longer and she was quite certain that she would have been the one fast asleep. Too bad she now had to wait for the jerk to actually drop off. It wouldn't do to sneak in there and have him still be awake. If he found her trying to steal his armour, she was a dead woman. Or, at the very least, her plans would be ruined and she'd probably never get a chance like this again.

Sighing, she let her head drop back against the wall, willing her eyes to stay open even as her lids drooped a little more. This was totally ruining her beauty sleep, but it would be worth it in the long run. Anything was better than that awful stench she had to put up with every day.

_You'd better fall asleep soon, Vegeta,_ Bulma thought with a scowl.

She'd give him an hour. He was bound to have fallen asleep by then, which left her free to sneak inside and claim her prize, all without him realising a thing.

A grin curled her mouth, and she closed her eyes, savouring the image of Vegeta's face when he awoke the next morning and realised his Saiyan armour was gone. Oh, if only she could be there to see it, but that would be too risky. She'd have to hide the items good if she wanted this to work, and then she'd have to make sure she was far, far away come morning so that she could escape his initial retaliation, for he was bound to know it was she who was the thief. Maybe she'd go visit Master Roshi—that was distant enough, and she didn't think Vegeta knew about the island.

"I'm not being cowardly," she said to no one in particular, "but I don't have a death sentence either."

She knew Vegeta was going to be furious when he realised what had happened, but he'd get over it eventually. She hoped.

Bulma hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, half-eyeing the glowing numbers on her watch while hoping the hour would go quickly. She wasn't certain how long she could stay awake at this rate. One of her eyes was almost closed, and she used her finger to push at her eyebrow, forcing the stubborn eye to stay open. It was a losing battle.

"Not yet," she slurred, blinking slowly as the hallway blurred with little black dots "I can't fall asleep yet."

Her eyes slid shut for a second, and then she suddenly felt like she'd been zapped. She sat up properly, aware that her cheek was damp, and there was a large wet patch on her jeans. She'd been drooling.

Panic rising in her chest, Bulma glanced down at the watch on her wrist and cursed softly. Three hours had passed since Vegeta had turned off his light. She had fallen asleep!

"Damn it!" she hissed, getting painfully to her feet.

Her bones were aching all over and she could feel the muscles in her neck protesting from sleeping in such an awkward position. She rolled her neck around experimentally, trying to ease the tension, but that only seemed to make it worse.

Feeling every bit her twenty-nine years of age, and biting back a string of curses, Bulma tiptoed to the prince's door and placed her ear against the wood. She could hear nothing coming from within and let out a small breath of relief. Perhaps she wasn't too late to salvage her plan. It seemed like he was still asleep, and if she could just turn the handle without making too much noise—

_A-ha! _Bulma thought in triumph, gently pushing the door open so it would not creak.

The room was dark, for there was no moon to shine through the curtains; however, there were plenty of stars, and she had already adjusted her eyes to the darkness while she had been sitting in the hallway, so she was able to make out the shadowy forms of the furniture, as well as the man lying on the bed. A smile curved her lips. Perhaps this wouldn't be so hard, after all.

_Now where is that armour?_ she mused, glancing around the room.

There was a cabinet resting against the far wall—bare of any belongings—and not far from that were a desk and chair, also bare. Then there was the bed. There was no sight of any boots, gloves, suit or breastplate. In fact, if she hadn't been able to hear Vegeta breathing, she would have sworn there was no one else in the room with her, or that anyone had been in it for a while. It was kind of creepy how very unlived in the bedroom felt, as if the man who inhabited it was a ghost passing through rather than someone of real flesh and blood.

She tiptoed over to the cabinet and opened the top drawer, careful to make as little sound as possible. There were the clothes she and her mother had bought for the prince, all neatly folded but clearly untouched. The next drawer was the same, as was the next, and all the others she checked. There was no sign of the coveted armour.

Her stomach plummeted as a very unwelcome suspicion began to take root in her mind. She glanced back towards the bed where the prince was sleeping, but it was too dark to make out what he was wearing, if anything. Bulma swallowed and made her way to the bed, heart thudding uncomfortably against her ribs. He was lying on top of the blankets, flat on his back, with one arm thrown loosely over his eyes. It only took one look to see that he was indeed still wearing his full Saiyan attire—boots and all.

Bulma barely managed to repress her moan of dismay. She had been so certain that he would have to remove his armour when he went to bed—it could hardly be comfortable sleeping in all that gear—but it seemed she had once again misjudged Vegeta. Was it possible he had known about her thievery attempt? Or was he simply that paranoid and wore his armour to bed every night, no matter where he was, on the off chance that he might be attacked while asleep? Either way, his decision to remain in his clothes presented a serious obstacle.

She frowned and leaned forward to see just how deeply asleep he was in case she could somehow strip him off his clothing without waking him. At such close proximity, it was impossible to ignore the stench of male sweat emanating from his body. She scrunched her nose up in distaste, deciding she would just take the risk—anything to get rid of that smell. That was when a cold and horribly familiar voice broke the silence.

"If you treasure your life, woman, I suggest you get the hell out of my face and leave this room before I blast you."

Bulma felt her heart leap up into her throat and placed a hand against her chest, trying to calm the frantic beat. "Y-you're awake," she gasped, sucking in a shaky breath.

"I was awake when you first entered the room."

Now her heart plummeted and she could feel moisture gathering on her palms. He removed his arm from his face and sat up to look at her. She knew, even without being able to see his expression, that he was glaring.

"What were you looking for?" he asked, and his voice was like steel.

"I—I was just, um—"

Suddenly, a hand closed around the front of her shirt and she was jerked irresistibly forward, almost stumbling over her feet as she found herself face-to-face with a very irate Saiyan. He lit his free hand with his ki, and the blue light flared wickedly around them, dancing off his hair and making his eyes, which she saw now were as black as coal, glow with a sinister glint. Bulma swallowed and tried to ease herself out of his grip, but his fingers only tightened, using the material he had bunched in his fist as a leash to keep her in place.

"Hey, you're ruining my shirt!" Bulma complained, momentarily forgetting her fear as she saw how stretched the fabric was getting.

"Shut up!" he hissed, and a small squeak escaped her lips as he pulled her even closer so that their noses were almost touching. "Now you listen to me, you idiotic woman. I've killed men for less than what you just did, so if you want to live, you're going to tell me what you were looking for in this room."

Bulma swallowed again as she met his gaze. She could see no bluff in those murderous eyes; he was dead serious about killing her if he thought even for a moment that she was a threat. Faced with such a predicament, she knew the logical thing to do would be to bare all and ask for his forgiveness, but Bulma was tired and frustrated, and now her favourite shirt was being ruined because he refused to let her go. In short, she was in no mood to appease the Saiyan prince.

"I'm not telling you anything while you're manhandling me like this!" she snapped, narrowing her eyes. "This is my house and I don't have to answer to you. Now get your hands off me, you big jerk!"

She gave a hard shove to his chest, but he didn't budge an inch. It was as if she hadn't touched him at all. Bulma's expression fell ludicrously as she realised just how helpless she was, but instead of surrendering, she gave a shriek of frustration and clutched both her hands around the fist trapping her shirt, trying to prise his gloved fingers apart.

"Let me go!" she demanded when this also proved futile.

He allowed himself a small smirk. "Answer my question first, and perhaps I'll think about it."

She stiffened at his tone. His voice was taunting, almost playful, but she could hear the venom underlying his amusement. He was angry. _Very_ angry.

Her breasts rose and fell sharply, and she raised her eyes to his, the sound of her fragmented breathing painfully loud to her ears. It was difficult to say what bothered her more: the fact that she was trapped and could feel the seams of her shirt fraying, or the fact that he was staring at her like a wild cat about to sink his jaws into her neck. Either way, he both frightened and infuriated her, and she wished in that moment that she had never stepped foot inside his bedroom.

"Well?" he prompted, and the black irises darkened as he tightened his grip on her shirt, pulling her just a fraction closer.

She opened her mouth to respond, but then she heard an odd sound, like paper being shredded. They both froze, and Bulma's eyes widened as she realised it wasn't paper that was being ripped, it was her shirt. Mouth conveniently still open, she let out an alarmed yelp as the material gave way, sending her tumbling onto her backside and Vegeta clutching nothing but a flimsy bit of cotton.

"You lunkhead!" she yelled, anger flooding through her veins as she glowered up at him. "Look at what you've done to my shirt!"

Vegeta stared at her for a moment, and his gaze shifted imperceptibly from her face to her chest and then back again. She felt her cheeks warm as it suddenly occurred to her that she was sprawled on the floor in nothing but her jeans and a nude-coloured bra. She folded her arms across her breasts, giving him her best death glare, but he was no Master Roshi. If he was affected by her topless state, he certainly wasn't showing it; the black eyes were as dark and murderous as ever and his features twisted into a mask of contempt. Somehow, his derision annoyed her even more.

Bulma hugged her arms closer to herself, scowling back at him in frustration and humiliation. This was not at all how she had expected her infamous stealing attempt to go. If he were any other man, she might have used her exposed body to her advantage in an attempt to turn the tables on him—it wasn't like she hadn't used the tactic before—but this was Vegeta, prince of the Saiyans. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't take the bait, whatever her womanly charms. He was far too pigheaded and stuck-up.

Vegeta's eyes narrowed suddenly and he dropped the material in his hand. "Get out," he said shortly. "I'm tired of this nonsense."

He turned his back on her and extinguished the energy that had been burning against his palm, returning the room to darkness. Bulma scrambled to her feet and, with a very feminine huff, flicked on the light switch so she could see again. Vegeta was already heading back towards his bed.

"Oh, no you don't!" she snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Don't think you can threaten me, rip my shirt off, and then just dismiss me as if nothing has happened. You're going to apologise, Vegeta, and you're going to do it right now!" She folded her arms, holding her chin high. "Maybe in Frieza's army you can treat women however you like, but here on Earth we expect men to behave like gentlemen, and that includes treating a woman with proper respect!"

He paused and stared back at her with a hard look in his eyes. "I'm only going to say this once more, woman: _get out!_"

Bulma gave an involuntary flinch at the gruffness of his voice, and her cheeks flushed a deep rose. It was obvious he was not in the mood for her arguments, but she could be just as stubborn. She refused to back down—not after the humiliation he had put her through.

"Say you're sorry first!" she retorted hotly, clenching her hands into fists.

He growled low in his throat and advanced towards her, another ball of energy forming in his palm. Bulma let out a rather undignified squeak and hurried out of the room, alarmed at the murderous look in his eyes. The door to his bedroom slammed behind her with a snap, and she glanced back in surprise and then in dismay as she realised she had let him chase her out of his room without a fight or even getting a hint of an apology.

"Bulma, you idiot!" she sighed, slumping against the wall.

Now he would go back to bed feeling all smug with his victory and thinking she was more pathetic than ever. Of course, the sad truth was that he really had made her look pathetic. Not only had she failed to get his armour off him (a disappointment in itself, since she would still have to put up with his stench), but the fact that he had managed to rip her shirt off while restraining her was a humiliation she could not live down—especially since she had been so defenceless to stop him.

_If only Yamcha were here,_ she thought sadly. _He would have protected me._

But her boyfriend was dead—killed by Vegeta's henchman during that first epic struggle on Earth—and he would not be revived for a while yet, so she would have to learn to fight her battles herself. Vegeta had won this round, but he wasn't going to win the next. Sure, she felt a little shaken after tonight's adventure, but his audacity had only made her even more determined to get the better of him. She was going to get that armour, and then she would make him pay for the embarrassment he had put her through.

"So what if it's childish," she muttered, knowing that most women her age did not go around trying to steal their homicidal house guest's clothes. "He was the one who started it."

And she would make sure she finished it, but this time—a smile curved her mouth—this time she would make sure _she_ came out on top.

**oOo**

It took Bulma much longer than usual to get ready the next morning. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that, for all her brave words, she was still a bit hesitant to face the prince after their last encounter. Naturally, she wasn't afraid of him, even if he had threatened to kill her, held her hostage by her shirt, and burned holes into her skull with the sheer intensity of his gaze. She was Bulma Briefs, and she wasn't afraid of anyone.

Right.

"Pull yourself together, girl," Bulma muttered, smoothing down her hair as she faced her reflection in the mirror. "So what if he's more powerful than you? Let's not forget that you have something he could never have: brains."

It was what separated her from the masses—besides her incomparable beauty, of course. She was a genius, simple as that, and she was not about to let some oafish, stubborn _warrior_ get the best of her. Brute strength was nothing when compared to a good strategy, so a good strategy was what she would have to come up with.

Bulma smacked her fist against her palm. "Time to think of a plan!"

Or, at least, that is what she would have done had her stomach not given a loud and rather violent grumble.

"On second thought," she muttered, heading out of the room, "the plan can wait. I'm starving!"

She made her way through the spacious rooms of Capsule Corporation, and her nose twitched in delight as she picked out the scent of her mother's cooking the closer she got to the kitchens. Bulma licked her lips in anticipation, almost salivating as she smelt eggs and bacon and waffles and—

Sweaty, Saiyan male.

"Great," she sighed, pausing in the doorway at the sight of the black-haired man seated at the table. So much for avoiding another encounter.

Bulma watched as Vegeta shovelled food into his mouth as fast as her mother placed it beside him, somehow managing to make the act look graceful even as he stuffed his face. Not once did he look up, though she knew he was aware of her presence. He made it his business to be conscious of who was in a room with him.

"Oh, Bulma, honey!" Pansy exclaimed, catching sight of her daughter. "I didn't see you there. Come and have a seat and I'll get you some breakfast—that's if Vegeta has left you any. The dear boy just loves my cooking so much, I can barely keep up with him."

Bulma repressed the urge to roll her eyes, disgusted at how enthusiastic her mum was getting over a man who had reduced her to the status of his personal chef. Any other woman would have been upset that she spent half her morning cooking the equivalent of a feast for a guest who showed her no gratitude, but Pansy Briefs was not any woman. She seemed genuinely delighted that Vegeta could eat so much food and didn't begrudge him a single minute of her time. Bulma, of a shrewder disposition and knowing her mother as she did, figured part of this delight stemmed from the fact that it was only during meal times that Vegeta actually tolerated Mrs Briefs' company.

Shaking her head, Bulma took a seat at the round table, directly opposite Vegeta. Apart from shooting her a brief, irritated glance, he paid her no heed nor showed any inclination to bring up what had happened last night in his bedroom. Indeed, he seemed quite content to focus on clearing the food from his plate and giving orders to her mother.

Bulma let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and relaxed more on her chair. For once, she was grateful for the prince's arrogance. It was obvious he had decided she was not a threat and that he wasn't going to bother with her or with what she had been doing in his room last night. This was good news for her, as the less fuss he made about their night time encounter, the better were her chances of getting that armour from him without his or her parents' intervention. Plus, the more harmless he thought her, the less likely he was to get suspicious.

_You just watch, Vegeta_, Bulma thought with an inward smile. _I may not be able to beat you physically, but with my brains I sure as hell can outsmart you._

Mrs Briefs toddled over, red heels clicking against the linoleum floor, and set a plate of bacon and eggs on toast before her daughter.

"There you go, sweetie," Pansy said with a smile—one that grew as she turned to face the man opposite. "And how are you coming along, Vegeta? Would you like some more? A strong man like yourself needs all the food he can get, what with all that training . . ."

Vegeta gave a noncommittal grunt and drained the last of his coffee. It was the most the older woman was going to get from him, apart from the slight twitch of his right eye. Bulma had to try not to laugh. Her mum was like a walking, talking torture device for him; unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for her), it was also one he just had to stomach if he hoped to remain at Capsule Corporation.

Speaking of torture. Bulma scrunched up her nose slightly as she got another whiff of sweat and male, yet this time she was able to detect a cool, musky scent as well. Her eyes narrowed and she observed the Saiyan with renewed interest, finally noticing that his gravity-defying hair seemed darker, even thicker, than usual.

_Still wet,_ she thought, putting two and two together.

"Just had a shower?" she asked with feigned casualness, stirring some sugar into her cup of coffee.

His eyes darted to hers, holding her gaze in that intense way of his as he scrutinised her face, pondering the motive behind her question. Seeming to decide it was harmless enough, he gave another grunt, which she took to be a yes, and then returned to his food, dismissing her completely. Bulma was satisfied with his response, however, and tapped her finger against the porcelain of her cup as she considered how best to utilise this new information.

This wasn't the first time she had seen him come to breakfast in such a state. In fact, when she put all her observations of the Saiyan prince together, she was able to ascertain that his hair had been slightly damp every time she had sat opposite him for breakfast, suggesting he'd made a routine to wash in the mornings. Of course, to clean himself properly he would have to remove his armour, and in that she saw her chance to make her move. If she couldn't steal his clothes while he was asleep, then she'd just have to steal them while he was in the shower.

She grinned in triumph, but her euphoria faded a second later. It was all very well to know when he actually took his damn clothes off, but how was she to slip into the bathroom and grab them without him noticing?

Bulma frowned, remembering how easily he had sensed her presence in the bedroom. She'd need to be a lot subtler in her approach if she wanted this to work. Just because he would be in the shower didn't mean he would be any less vigilant, and the last thing she wanted was another repeat of last night.

Vegeta placed his knife and fork down on his plate, pushing the lot away from him as he stood up from his chair. Bulma noted that there was not a speck of food on his face, and not for the first time did she wonder how a man with such good table manners could be so rough and, well, _unclean_ with his dressing habits. Unless he really was just that stubborn about refusing to wear Earthling attire. She wouldn't put it past him.

"Oh, Vegeta, you're leaving already?" Pansy asked, looking a bit crestfallen.

He headed for the door. "I'm going to train."

"Alright," Pansy responded, bright smile returning. "Well, you just call me if you want any refreshments. I'll have lunch ready for you at twelve."

He gave another noncommittal grunt and then left the house, shutting the door behind him. Bulma heaved a loud sigh and turned accusing eyes on her mother.

"What are you now, his servant?" she demanded, raising her eyebrows.

Pansy placed a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. "Don't be silly, Bulma; he knows I'm not his servant."

"He's taking you completely for granted, Mum. You'd do better to make him cook for himself."

"Nonsense. Besides," Pansy added, clearing the rest of Vegeta's plates away from the table, "I can't just let the poor boy starve."

Bulma threw her hands up in resignation. "Fine, let him walk all over you, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Her mother frowned. "You're much too hard on him. You forget that this isn't his planet. The poor dear is probably feeling very out of place. The least we can do is to make him feel welcome."

"I'd make him feel more welcome if he at least changed his clothes," her daughter responded dryly. "I don't know how you put up with it."

"Oh, I don't know," Pansy said with another of her girlish laughs. "It's not so bad, and that Saiyan armour does fit his body so nicely—so defined." She sighed dreamily. "You don't see men like that every day . . ."

Bulma placed her head in her hands. "Why do I even bother?"

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing," Bulma sighed.

Mrs Briefs shrugged and then went back to clearing away the dishes. Bulma yawned and picked up her cup of coffee, absently taking a sip as she stared out the window to where she could see Vegeta training. The man never stopped. It was like he was possessed, but what he hoped to achieve by doing a ridiculous number of push-ups every day while only using one finger to hold his body aloft, amongst other extreme forms of exercise, she did not know. It seemed a silly way to spend one's time in her opinion.

"Hey, Bulma!"

A jolt travelled down her spine at the sound of the high-pitched voice and she let out a spray of brown liquid, startled into choking on her drink.

"Oh, no!" the squeaky voice cried. "Bulma, are you alright?"

Bulma wiped the dribbles of coffee from her chin and turned to face the newcomer, blue eyes flashing. "Are you trying to kill me, Puar?"

The floating cat covered one blue paw over her mouth. "I'm sorry, Bulma. I didn't mean to give you a fright."

"Hmph."

Puar hung her head. "Aren't you happy to see me even a little?"

"Of course I'm happy to see you," Bulma said, thawing a little, "but next time why don't you announce yourself first instead of sneaking up behind me and trying to kill me with my own coffee." She rubbed her throat, which was still burning. "Honestly, Puar, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack."

"Sorry," Puar mumbled, whiskers drooping.

Bulma waved a careless hand. "Forget about it. So what's up? I thought you were staying with Roshi and the others until Yamcha comes back."

"I was," Puar admitted, casting a wary glance at Mrs Briefs, who was now humming tunelessly to herself while she placed the last of the breakfast dishes on the bench for the Capsule Corporation robots to clean up. The woman had a habit of trying to force food on every person who came within her vicinity, which was no joking matter when it came to a creature of Puar's size.

"So what's wrong?" Bulma prodded, taking another sip of her drink.

"Master Roshi and Oolong just watch those silly aerobic shows all day," Puar sighed, shaking her head. "And if it's not the shows, it's the magazines. I don't understand them. It's as if they don't care that Yamcha—that he—"

Puar sniffed and covered her face with her paws. Bulma frowned and stared down at the dark liquid in her cup.

"I know, Puar," she said softly. "I miss him too."

They both fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts of the man they had lost. Pansy, quite oblivious to the glum mood that had settled in the kitchen, flashed the two of them a bright smile as she held up a tray of cupcakes, though where she had managed to conjure the baking from was anyone's guess. The blonde could be quite the magician when she wanted.

"Anyone want a cupcake?" Mrs Briefs asked.

"No, Mum," Bulma said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We don't want your cupcakes."

"You sure?" Pansy asked in concern. Saying no to a cupcake was like saying no to a million zeni in her books. "They're very nice."

"Uh, n-no thank you," Puar stammered. "I'm fine. R-really."

Pansy frowned. "Perhaps Vegeta will want one."

Bulma stood up from her chair and placed her hands on her mum's shoulders, propelling the blonde towards the door, cupcakes and all.

"Yes, Mum," she said firmly, "go and ask Vegeta. And if he doesn't want one, I'm sure Dad and the workers will."

Bulma shut the door on her mother before she could respond and then turned back to face Puar.

"Sorry about that," Bulma said, resuming her seat at the table. "Mum has a bit of a fixation with food."

"I've noticed," Puar observed, looking out the window to where she could see a cloud of blonde curls bobbing over to the clearing where Vegeta was training. She wrinkled her nose, whiskers and ears twitching as she stared at the dark-haired man.

"What's the matter, Puar?" Bulma asked, seeing her friend's agitation.

"How can you stand living with him?"

"Who?"

"That man—the one who got Yamcha killed."

Bulma twisted her lips into a frown as she wondered how best to respond. She knew why Puar was upset, but then the little cat hadn't been there on Namek when Vegeta had become their ally in the fight against Frieza. He'd saved Gohan and Krillin's life several times on Namek, or so she had been told, not to mention it was his plan that was allowing them to revive their friends with the dragon balls. It would have been wrong to turn him away.

"I know you don't trust him, Puar," Bulma said slowly, "but I don't think we have to worry about Vegeta anymore. He may be a bit rough around the edges, but I don't think he's going to hurt us." A glint of humour danced in her eyes. "Honestly, the worst thing about having him live here is his smell. The guy refuses to change out of his armour; it's driving me crazy!"

"Well, if you say so," Puar acquiesced. "Anyway, have you tried asking him to change his clothes?"

"Of course I have!" Bulma snapped, glowering at the floating cat. "I even threatened to kick him out of the house if he didn't do what I asked, and when that didn't work, I tried stealing the armour from him so he wouldn't have a choice in the matter, but he caught me out. Not that it matters," she added, heaving a sigh. "He even wears that stupid armour to bed. From what I've gathered, the only time he's not wearing it is when he is in the shower."

"So what will you do?" Puar asked, cocking her head to the side.

"I was going to try and steal the armour from him the next time he has a shower, but I don't know how I'm going to do that without him spotting me. The guy never lets his guard down."

Puar scratched her head. "I could help."

Bulma stared at the tiny cat with a dismissive smile, words of refusal already forming on her lips. Then she froze. It had occurred to her that Puar could indeed help. Not only was the cat an ex-bandit, but she was a shape-shifter to boot. This was perfect!

"Oh, Puar, you're a lifesaver!' Bulma cried, pulling her friend into a tight hug. "I didn't know how I was going to survive another day having to put up with that stench—especially since it just keeps getting worse."

Puar grinned and slapped a paw against her furry chest. "You just leave it to me, Bulma. I'll get that armour for you. It's the least I can do."

"Right on!" Bulma exclaimed, punching her fist into the air. "Now all we need to do is come up with a plan."

And this time she knew it would work.

**oOo**

Waiting for a man to take a shower was not the most scintillating of pastimes, especially when that man was a warrior who had no problem training for every hour the sun was up and then some. Bulma and Puar were not to be deterred, however, and so they had watched and waited, making sure at least one of them was there to keep an eye on the Saiyan for when he decided to go in and wash. For wash he must. Bulma had asked her mother—the number one authority when it came to all things Vegeta—and Mrs Briefs had assured her that he always showered after his training.

"He's such a clean young man," Pansy had added with her most squinty of smiles.

Bulma let out a derisive snort as she recalled the conversation. _Clean_. Vegeta didn't even know the meaning of the word clean. No one who cared about having good hygiene would go around wearing the same clothes for five days—especially when those clothes had already been covered in dirt and blood.

"Are you alright, Bulma?" Puar asked, alarmed by her friend's sudden predilection for snorting at random moments.

"Fine," Bulma responded, flicking through the magazine on her lap with perhaps more force than necessary. "I'm just fine, Puar."

The cat sighed and settled more comfortably on the lawn chair. "Do you think Vegeta will go inside soon? I'm getting tired."

"He'd better," Bulma growled. "He's been at this for hours."

But once again they underestimated the prince's dedication to his training. The sun came and went yet Vegeta remained where he was. Bulma and Puar were forced to retreat inside, no longer having an excuse to linger on the lawn chairs. One couldn't exactly sunbathe with no sun.

"It's okay," Bulma reassured her shape-shifting friend. "We'll just get him when he comes inside. In the mean time, let's just keep an eye on the door so we don't miss him."

Puar nodded in agreement and the two settled down for another bout of Vegeta-watching; however, neither had counted on the sudden appearance of Doctor Briefs.

"Dad!" Bulma exclaimed, seeing her father wandering towards them from one of the side-doors, trademark black kitten perched on his shoulder. "I thought you were still working on the new fighter jets."

"I was, but I've come against a bit of a problem with the AI functions for the automated pilots." He took a puff of his cigarette. "I was hoping you'd come and take a look to see what you could make of it."

Bulma frowned. If she left now there was a chance that she might miss Vegeta, but if she stayed she'd be putting the company at a disadvantage. Her father might be good at putting things together, but everyone knew she was the best with artificial intelligence and coding.

"Alright, Dad, I'll come and have a look," she agreed, and then turned to Puar. "You're going to have to keep guard till I get back. If Vegeta comes inside before I return, you know the drill."

"Got it!" Puar squeaked, giving a salute.

Bulma grinned and then followed her dad out to the laboratories. Puar waved them goodbye before fixing her attention back on the doorway to where Vegeta was training, determined not to miss their chance to catch the Saiyan when he came inside. Bulma would be furious if she did, and if there was one thing Puar had learnt about Bulma after all their years together, it was that one did not make the blue-haired female angry.

Unfortunately for Puar, Mrs Briefs was looking for a taste tester for the new strawberry shortcake she had made, and Puar just happened to be in her line of sight. There was no chance of escape, no hope of screaming for help. Puar had no choice but to surrender to the blonde, and was promptly dragged to the kitchen where she was stuffed with a mouthful of sugary dessert—a knockout attack in its own sweetened form.

So it was that when Bulma returned from the laboratories with her father, it was to find Vegeta standing a little part from the group crowded around the dinner table, hair unmistakably damp, and still dressed in his armour. Her cry of dismay was enough to cause everyone in the room, including the visiting Nameks, to stare at her in surprise, and Pansy to demand what was wrong. Bulma simply glared at Puar, who hung her furry head in shame.

"Well, there went that plan," Bulma muttered, placing her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry, Bulma," Puar said meekly, dropping her head even lower.

"What plan?" Pansy asked, looking a bit confused. "What are you talking about, sweetums?"

"It's nothing, Mum," Bulma responded, knowing the whole operation would be doomed to failure the moment her mum got wind of it.

Her parents exchanged a look—one that suggested they knew very well their daughter was up to something but that they were best left out of it—and then shrugged the matter off in the way the mismatched couple only could. In other words, Mrs Briefs asked if anyone wanted more shortcake, and Doctor Briefs wandered over to Vegeta to see if he could persuade the Saiyan to relinquish some of his knowledge about alien technology.

Bulma remained where she was, silently fuming as she stood with her hands on her hips. Puar floated over to her side, tail twitching nervously.

"I really am sorry, Bulma," Puar mumbled. "We could always try again tomorrow."

"You bet we're going to try tomorrow," Bulma growled, shifting her gaze from where her father was still conversing with the prince to glare at the cat hovering beside her. "I did not just spend my day watching some oaf train to give up now. We're going to do this, Puar, and this time I'm going to make sure that no one can interfere."

Puar gave an audible gulp, alarmed at the manic look in those bright blue eyes. "Uh, sure, Bulma, so what do you propose we do?"

Bulma cackled darkly and then leaned forward to whisper in the cat's ear. Puar blinked as she assimilated the information and then cracked a broad grin.

"Think you can handle that, Puar?" Bulma asked, taking a step back.

"Definitely. This will be a piece of cake."

"What was that, dear?" Mrs Briefs asked, pouncing on the cat. "You wanted more cake?"

"U-uh, no, thanks. I-I'm just fine."

Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. "Thank goodness I got my father's brains," she muttered.

And thank goodness it was Puar and not her mother who was acting as her partner in crime. She glanced back towards the Saiyan, who had finally managed to get rid of her father, and a small smile curled her mouth.

"You may have escaped my father, Vegeta, but you won't escape me," she said with relish. "This time we will get that armour from you."

**oOo**

Oblivious to the schemes being plotted around him, Vegeta arose the next morning with no thought in his mind except to get through another day stuck on the infernal planet called Earth. Since he was a creature of habit—a product from his life as a soldier—he wasted no time in doing a few morning exercises and then making his way to the shower so he could wash. Out of habit, he allowed his ki to flow out from him, sensing where everyone was and checking for any threats. It wasn't that Vegeta expected anyone to attack him, but he could not shake the instinctive need to at least check that he was in no danger of an ambush. It was a lesson he had learnt the hard way, and not one he would easily forget.

Satisfied that only the blue-haired female and that cat thing he'd seen once or twice were nearby—both of whom he knew were no threat to him—Vegeta entered the bathroom and made sure to lock it behind him, remembering the last time when that smiling blonde creature had invaded his privacy on the pretence of putting more towels in the guest bathroom. She was just lucky he hadn't blasted her on the spot—he certainly fantasised about doing so enough times.

Still grumbling to himself, Vegeta turned on the shower and then stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a neat pile near the wall. Only once he was standing under the scalding water did he allow his guard to relax, and he exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes, letting the pressure of the shower pound against his body, working into his muscles.

The door handle to the bathroom gave a slight jiggle, but Vegeta, for once, was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice. It jiggled a bit more and then gave a faint click as the lock came undone and the door moved slowly open. The weak energy he had been unconsciously tracking grew stronger, and he turned in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he stared through the steam misting the shower door to observe his surroundings. It felt as if someone was in the room with him, but there didn't seem to be anyone there. Besides, surely he would have heard the door open if someone had come in?

Vegeta growled at his own jumpiness and went back to washing himself, deciding he had just been imagining things. It was unfortunate for him that the steam was so thick, for if he had cared to look a bit more closely, he would have noticed that there were three gloves resting on his pile of clothes instead of the usual two. If he had kept on watching, he would have also noticed that the glove then started tugging on his clothes, dragging the lot to the door, which conveniently opened just enough to allow a bare—and decidedly feminine—arm to poke through and receive the glove's burden. Glove and arm then vanished, and the door was once again pulled shut, followed by another faint click to suggest the lock had been put back in place.

All of this happened without the prince of the Saiyans noticing a thing. So it was that when he finally emerged from the shower and dried himself off with a towel, he discovered, much to his chagrin, that he had no clothes to wear. Even worse, he could perceive no trace of the thief. It was as if his armour had simply vanished into thin air—a feat he knew was impossible.

Vegeta's eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him, and his confused expression quickly morphed into murderous as he realised there was only one person who would have the audacity to steal his armour.

"_Woman_," he growled, clenching his hands into fists. "You're going to pay for this!"

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

I have a question. Is it 'Briefs' or 'Brief'? I seem to read everywhere that it is 'Briefs', but while I was watching the Majin Buu series one of the reporters said 'Trunks Brief' without the S, and now I'm just confused.

Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. I've already written three chapters using 'Briefs', so I think I'll just stick with that spelling for this story. Also, I couldn't seem to work out if Bulma should be 28 or 29 at this point in the timeline, but 29 seemed to make the most sense, so that is what I went with. Oh, and I've made Puar female, simply because that is what the version I own states s/he is. Just putting that out there before people do the 'PUAR IS ACTUALLY A MALE' war cry. You know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, enough rambling from me. Drop me a review to let me know what you think and you'll make my week. Literally. Between writing my thesis and teaching, I get little cheer in my life, so go on and make me a happy author. Who knows, I might even be inspired to update faster. ^_~


	5. Truce

Thanks to all who reviewed, and a special thank you to the unsigned reviewers. I wasn't able to reply, but I do appreciate all of your comments. ^_^

I wish to apologise for taking so long to update this story. I've been horribly ill and horribly busy, and then I just felt I should get some stories finished for my other fandoms. Of course, I'll try to be more regular with my updates in the future.

* * *

><p><strong>Truce<strong>

"Well, that takes care of that," Bulma declared, slipping the number five capsule inside a case, which she then locked and stored in the drawer with all the rest of her capsules and work experiments.

"You think it'll be safe in there?" Puar squeaked, hovering anxiously at Bulma's side.

"Of course it will be safe. Vegeta might guess who stole his armour, but that doesn't mean he'll know where to find it. Not if I can help it, anyway."

"What if he catches you and tries to make you talk?"

"Let him try!" Bulma declared, raising her chin. "I won't cave so easily. Not after everything we went through to get that stupid armour off him. I don't care how angry he gets; it serves him right for being so stubborn and refusing to listen to me in the first place."

"Wow, Bulma! You're really brave. I don't think I could stand up to Vegeta like that."

Bulma suddenly remembered being trapped in an iron grip, helpless to defend herself as Vegeta held a ball of energy just inches from her face. Her chin quivered and some of the colour drained from her cheeks. What if he _did_ come after her?

"Bulma?" Puar said in concern.

Pulling herself together, Bulma planted her hands on her hips and let out a loud, if rather forced, laugh. "Don't worry, Puar. I can handle Vegeta just fine. But, uh," she said in a lower tone, gesturing for the cat to follow, "what do you say we get out of here for a while, just to let him cool down. I have a feeling he's not going to be very happy when he realises what we've done, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea if he finds us here."

"Right!" Puar agreed, more than happy to leave Capsule Corporation if it meant escaping the retaliation of a certain prince.

Neither was delusional enough to assume he would not realise who had stolen the gear. Only one person had complained about his armour, and that was Bulma. Puar, at least, could hope to make it out of this unscathed if her role in the theft remained a secret, but Bulma knew she would not be so lucky. Vegeta was bound to come after her at some point, and she would rather that time come once his initial ire had worn off and she still had a chance of surviving the encounter with all her limbs intact.

"Better be quick," Bulma hissed, dragging Puar down the corridors and towards the closest outside clearing. "He could be along any minute now, and that would be disastrous for both of us."

"Where are we going to go?"

"Master Roshi's, of course. Vegeta would never think to look for us there."

"Unless he asks your mum and dad where you are."

Bulma levelled a glare at the floating cat. "I'm trying to stay optimistic here, Puar. You could at least try to do the same!"

The pointy ears drooped. "Sorry, Bulma."

Sparing only an impatient look at the shape-shifting feline, Bulma continued down the hallway and then paused as she came to the door that led to the back gardens. She cast a quick glance up and down the corridor and then peered outside the window.

"What are you looking for?" Puar squeaked.

"I'm just making sure the coast is clear," Bulma responded. "The last thing we need is for Vegeta to see us taking off in the airship."

Puar chewed on her paws nervously and waited for the verdict. There was so much that could go wrong in this scenario. She couldn't help but wish that she had stayed back with the others on the island. Playing spectator to Roshi and Oolong getting their jollies out of watching aerobic shows might be a little disturbing, but at least her life wasn't put at risk because she had decided to aid her friend in stealing a homicidal Saiyan's armour.

After what seemed like hours, but which was really only a few seconds, Bulma stepped back from the window and flashed Puar a conspiratorial grin.

"Okay, Puar, it looks like we're good to go. I don't see any sign of Vegeta."

Puar swallowed back her anxiety and nodded her head. Together, the cat and woman slipped through the door and stopped in the centre of the grassy clearing. Bulma rummaged around in her pocket and brought out an orange capsule with the number three imprinted on its front. She clicked the knob down and then threw the capsule at the grass. There was a loud 'pop' and then a two-seater airship was suddenly before them, ready for flight.

"Hurry!" Bulma hissed, hitting the button to open the plane and grabbing at Puar's arm to shove her inside.

They had barely taken two steps before a beam of blue light suddenly exploded in front of them, blinding their vision. Bulma instinctively put a hand up to shield her eyes, wincing at the intensity of the blast and the bits of metal that clattered around her. She could hear Puar squeaking in fright beside her and muttering something about getting out of there before it was too late. It was with a horrible presentiment that Bulma finally lowered her arm.

"No!" she wailed, feeling the colour drain from her cheeks.

Where her airship had once stood was now a pile of twisted debris and a few blackened patches of grass. The blast of energy had destroyed everything, including all possible chances of escape.

Heart thumping against her ribs, Bulma turned slowly on the spot and saw Vegeta propped against the door to the compound, dressed in some of the clothes she and her mother had bought him. He looked utterly relaxed as he stood there watching her, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk curling his mouth. There was no sign of Puar.

"Going somewhere?" he taunted in his far too low, far too gravelly voice.

Bulma swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat and had to take a moment to gather her wits. Logic dictated she should be terrified—the man had just blown up her airship—but in that split-second she found herself just a little distracted. It had suddenly occurred to her that Vegeta was a rather attractive man when he wasn't dressed in bloody battle armour. Not that she could understand why this epiphany should occur to her now. By rights, the charcoal pants and black shirt he was wearing shouldn't have made any difference, yet somehow the Earthling attire made him appear less intimidating and alien-like, allowing her to observe certain things about his appearance that she would have otherwise missed.

Of course, Bulma had always known that Vegeta was not ugly, but that didn't stop her from being stunned by this new and much more appealing version of the man. Never had his eyes looked so black, nor his features so striking. It was as if everything about him had been heightened, emphasising his raw masculinity in a way that the form-fitting armour had never achieved. It also left her feeling quite breathless.

Vegeta stepped away from the door and advanced towards her in slow, lazy steps, much like a hunter who knows he has caught his prey. Something about the way he fixed those dark eyes on her triggered something in her mind, and it was then that her logic finally decided to reassert itself. This man had destroyed her airship. Whatever his looks, she was not about to take that sitting down.

Bulma planted her hands on her hips and glared at the approaching Saiyan. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Vegeta?" she demanded. "You could have killed me!"

He stopped in front of her and eyed her with disfavour, all traces of amusement gone from his expression. "What have you done with my armour, woman?"

"Hey! Didn't you hear me?" she shrieked, ignoring his question. "I said you could have _killed_ me!"

"Believe me, if I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead right now."

The blue eyes flashed. "Is that so? Well, I'll have you know that—"

Vegeta made a small sound of exasperation and grasped her by the collar, pulling her roughly towards him. "Where is my armour?" he hissed, his face so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek.

Bulma gave an audible gulp as she met those intense black eyes. A horrible sense of déjà-vu swept over her, and she realised this wasn't the first time they had been in this situation. Unfortunately, if history was indeed about to repeat itself, she was also about to lose her shirt.

A similar thought seemed to occur to Vegeta, for he abruptly released his grip on her collar and took a step back. Bulma exhaled in relief and smoothed down the rumpled shirt, grateful that she hadn't been subjected to further humiliation. She didn't know if she could have handled having her top torn off twice by the Saiyan prince. Especially when he was glowering at her in that misogynistic way of his, as if it was somehow a crime to have breasts and so make it awkward for him to hold her in his favourite I'm-Going-to-Kill-You death grip.

He really was such a jerk sometimes.

Bulma repositioned her hand on her hip. "Finished manhandling me yet?" she asked dryly, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Vegeta folded his arms across his chest. "I don't have time for your nonsense, woman. Just tell me where my armour is and you can go."

"Excuse me, Vegeta, but you are not the boss of me." An evil little smile curled her lips. "Besides, I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't touched your foul armour."

"Don't lie to me, female. I know you took the armour, though how you managed it with that idiotic brain of yours is beyond me."

"Idio—" She clenched her hands into fists. "For your information, you're talking to one of the most intelligent females on this planet—if not the most intelligent."

"I always thought Earth was a planet of inferior life forms," he remarked, not looking very impressed. "Now I see I was right."

Her eyes sparkled with anger. "Oh, really? Well, I can't be that inferior if I managed to outsmart you, you big jerk!"

His jaw tightened, and his unimpressed expression was quickly replaced with displeasure.

"Yeah, that's right," she continued, folding her arms and meeting his gaze with a smug smile. "I did steal your armour, and you know what? I'm not going to tell you where it is either. So there!"

A tiny vein throbbed on his temple, though whether it was because she had confirmed his suspicions about stealing his armour or had simply used up all his patience with that final taunt of hers, she could not say. Either way, he looked as if he was keeping his temper in check by the barest thread, and that was not good news for Bulma.

Vegeta stepped closer, dominating her space. "You will tell me where that armour is, woman," he threatened in his low, gravelly voice.

Bulma tapped a finger to her chin, making a show of contemplating his words. "No, I don't think I will," she said brightly. "See, I rather like being able to breathe without choking on your disgusting smell."

His eyes narrowed into black slits. "Perhaps you should consider whether you like breathing at all."

Instead of being frightened, Bulma flashed him a wide smile. "That would be quite self-defeating, don't you think? How will you get your armour back if you kill me?"

"At least it would spare me from having to listen to your idiotic voice."

The amusement vanished from her eyes. "You know what? I don't need to listen to your insults. This is my house and I can do what I like. Now, if you don't mind—"

She turned to leave. Quick as lightning, Vegeta was suddenly in front of her again, only now he was advancing upon her, and he looked less than pleased.

"Perhaps I should have made my meaning clearer," he said with malicious politeness, forcing her backwards with each step that he took forward. "You're not going anywhere until you return my armour."

Bulma was still backing away from him when she collided with something hard. She started in surprise at the feel of the cold metal and realised that he had her trapped against the compound. A nasty smile curled his mouth as he met her wide eyes, and then he planted his hands against the wall on either side of her face, locking her in the cage of his arms. Her heart drummed against her ribs. She knew there was no escape.

"Now then," Vegeta said in a voice of steeled silk, "I think it's about time we draw this little game of yours to a close, don't you think?"

She swallowed, hard. "You can threaten me all you like, Vegeta. I'm still now going to tell you where it is."

His jaw tightened. For a moment they just glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Both were well aware that, somewhere along the way, the argument had become more than a struggle about armour and bad smells; this was a battle for dominance and authority. If she backed down now, she would never be able to earn his respect. If he backed down, he would be proving himself weaker than her. The problem, of course, was that neither had a submissive bone in their body and were very much used to getting their own way. In short, this staring contest could go on for a while.

Or at least it would have if Bulma didn't suddenly have an idea.

She smiled and placed her hand against his chest, stepping forward from the wall so there was barely an inch between them. "I tell you what, Vegeta," she said, smoothing out the creases on his shirt and looking at him from under her lashes. "I'm willing to make a truce with you."

He held her gaze steadily. "I'm listening."

"I will give you back your armour, but you have to promise that you will let the servants wash it after training. Oh, and it would be nice if you would wear some of the clothes my mum and I bought you sometimes as well." Her smile widened as she fixed up his collar, letting her fingers linger in a caress. "Earthling attire isn't so bad, you know. In fact, I think it quite suits you."

His brow furrowed, and she did not miss the flash of confusion that entered his eyes. "That's it?" he demanded, dropping his arms back to his sides and taking a step back from her.

"That's it," she affirmed. "I really don't care about your armour." A flirtatious wink. "It was the smell that bothered me."

A dull pink infused his cheeks, but the colour vanished an instant later. He folded his arms across his chest and considered her through those coal-black eyes. She could see the cogs turning in his mind, no doubt trying to determine whether he would appear weak by agreeing to her bargain. Bulma bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to scream at him. He had better accept her terms; she had already sacrificed too much of her pride just to make the truce. If it had been anyone else, she would have never dreamed of coming to a compromise, but Vegeta was different. Vegeta could be just as stubborn and selfish as she when he wanted, and in that she knew she had met her match. A truce was the only way to settle the matter.

The man in question seemed to come to the same conclusion. "Very well," he said finally. "I will ... accept your terms."

Bulma smiled graciously and held out her hand to seal the deal. His grip was hard, perhaps warning her that she would be wise to remember that he was still a Saiyan prince and was not someone to be bossed around. She continued to smile through gritted teeth, and then he released her hand and demanded she show him where she had been keeping his armour.

"Of course, Vegeta," she said with false sweetness. "Follow me."

They marched in silence towards the laboratory where she had hidden the number five capsule. He spared her no thanks when she handed him the capsule, and she spared him no smiles as he took his leave.

A truce had been called, but both knew the battle was far from over.

**oOo**

It was almost an hour later when Bulma found Puar hiding in one of the conservatories. They called it a conservatory, but it was more of an inside wilderness, with giant trees, a riot of flowers and plants, and even a few ponds that housed a number of many croaking life-forms, including the transformed Captain Ginyu. The conservatory was also the room where all of her parents' pets were left to roam: herbivores, carnivores—the whole works. That was how she found Puar; one of the dinosaurs had decided that floating cat might make a good snack and was chasing the poor feline with many roars and snarls. Then there was a puff of pink smoke and the dinosaur suddenly found itself staring into the angry eyes of a very Puar-ish looking Tyrannosaurus Rex.

"Puar!" Bulma shouted, placing her hands on her hips and tapping her foot.

The blue T-Rex turned to stare down at her, sharp teeth flashing, and then it let out a small squeak—a rather discordant sound when coming from such a large, fearsome animal. "B-Bulma," the T-Rex stammered, shuffling nervously on its feet, and creating small earthquakes with each thump. "I'm s-so g-glad you're okay."

"Too bad I can't say the same for you," Bulma retorted waspishly. "I can't believe you abandoned me! I thought Oolong was supposed to be the coward!"

Puar hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry, Bulma. I guess I just panicked."

Bulma sighed and ran a hand through her hair. The other dinosaur, who had been watching the exchange with a perplexed look on its scaly face, wandered off to look for a new snack. Floating cats were all well and fine, but floating cats that could turn into giant predators were clearly not an ideal lunch. If Puar was relieved by her foe's departure, she did not show it. Rather, she continued to stare at the ground, sniffling occasionally. This proved too much for her friend, who was really quite a good-hearted woman underneath all her self-centred ways.

"Well, I guess I can't blame you," Bulma said a little more reasonably. "Vegeta can be pretty scary, and he did blow up the ship."

Puar nodded and gave another pathetic sniffle. A few tears leaked from her eyes, but her claw-like arms were too stumpy for her to wipe them away. Suddenly, an exasperated noise escaped Bulma's lips.

"For Kami's sake, Puar. Do you have to stay in that dinosaur form? You look ridiculous!"

"Oh. Sorry."

There was another puff of pink smoke, and then the shape-shifter was back to her usual miniature size and appearance—all blue and tan fur, with drooping tail and whiskers. Her ears were pointed firmly down. It was clear she knew she was in disgrace.

Bulma frowned at the hovering cat. "There's no need to look so upset, Puar. I know you didn't really mean to leave me. Besides, I have good news."

The pointy ears lifted, and two black eyes peered at her with hope. "What?"

"Vegeta and I came to a truce. He got his armour back on the condition that he let the serving bots clean it after every training session, which means _I_ don't have to put up with his nasty, sweaty stench anymore."

"That's great, Bulma!"

"I know," Bulma agreed with a nod, and then her expression soured. "Though I still don't know why he had to make such a big fuss over the matter. He's a grown man, not a child. It's only sensible for him to change his clothes each day."

Puar remained silent and twiddled her paws. It wouldn't be very wise to say that Bulma had been just as equally making a fuss over nothing. She decided to change the subject.

"So how did you get him to agree?" Puar asked, knowing that flattering her friend's ego was a sure way to improve Bulma's mood. "I mean, he's not exactly the compliant type."

True to form, Bulma flicked her hair back over her shoulder with the arrogant confidence only she could pull off. "Oh, you know me," she said airily. "A bit of charm, a bit of seduction—it all worked out after that. Not even a Saiyan warrior like Vegeta can resist the power of _my_ beauty and wit."

Instead of looking impressed, Puar's jaw dropped and her button eyes widened in shock. "But Yamcha—"

"Relax!" Bulma interjected with a wave of her hand. "I didn't _do_ anything, if that's what you're worried about. I'd never do that to Yamcha."

Puar stared at her friend suspiciously. She knew that Bulma had a weakness for handsome men and would flirt with anyone who happened to catch her eye, regardless of her relationship status. It had happened before. Several times before, in fact. For all that Bulma had loved to rant at Yamcha for staring at other women, Puar thought that Bulma could often be just as bad.

"What?" Bulma exclaimed when Puar continued to stare at her with accusing eyes. "It's not as if I _like_ the guy. I just wanted to make sure he couldn't kill me with his smell. You know I'm in love with Yamcha. I'd never go behind his back—especially not with Vegeta."

She gave a snort of laughter at the idea, which comforted Puar a little. Perhaps Bulma was right. Perhaps there was nothing to fear. After all, Yamcha was nice and handsome and had been dating Bulma on and off for years. Vegeta was rough and mean and—at least in Puar's humble opinion—not very attractive at all. No doubt it was just as Bulma had said.

"You're right," Puar said, immediately brightening. "I'm sorry I doubted you. I'm just so on edge, and with Yamcha gone—"

"I know," Bulma murmured, and her eyes softened. "I miss him too, but we'll get him back soon, Puar. It's not like he is going to be gone forever."

"Sometimes it feels like it," Puar said sadly.

Bulma felt her stomach twist in guilt. Sure, she missed Yamcha, but there were days when she didn't think about him at all, and she couldn't even remember the last time she had cried over his death. Puar, on the other hand, was clearly distraught. The shape-shifter had been Yamcha's best friend and companion for at least twenty years. It made sense she should be so upset, yet as his girlfriend, Bulma knew she should have been missing him just as much.

"Come on," Bulma said, plastering a bright smile on her lips. "Let's go see what my mum has cooked up for lunch. I'm sure it will be something nice."

"As long as there is no strawberry shortcake," Puar responded with a shudder. "I still haven't recovered from the last lot!"

Bulma laughed. "Don't worry. Vegeta, it seems, has quite the sweet tooth. He'll probably eat it all for you."

"Bet your mum loves that."

"Oh, she does." Bulma shook her head as she thought of her mother's far too open appreciation of the Saiyan warrior. "Trust me, you have _no_ idea."


End file.
